REMEMBERING MIMI

In the past, we have talked about reducing tiny boxes on the calendar; creating margin; and trade-offs. 

Why do these things matter so much anyway?

With more space, we often have more time and more energy. 

With more space, we can do the things we want to do, say yes to what matters, and say no to the rest. 

 In addition to all of this, having space means having choice.

Agency.

Agility. 

Having space allows us to pivot when needed, in service of what matters most.

I was reminded of this two weeks ago, when I had the opportunity for an impromptu visit with my grandma, otherwise known as Mimi. 

MEMORIES OF Mimi

Four generations pictured from left to right: Sarah, Sarah’s Mom, Sarah’s Grandma (Mimi), Sarah’s niece

Growing up, we spent many summer days at Mimi’s Pool, which is one of my favorite places on earth. I did flips off the diving board, went for night swims on hot, humid, midwest summer nights, and, in high school, slathered my body in tanning oil as I sunned myself on the chaise lounge that once sat by the pool’s edge—despite warnings from both mom and Mimi not to (“You’ll end up with wrinkles like us if you do that!” They were right, but I didn’t stop.)

Mimi weighed in at 5 feet tall and about 90 pounds, but was one of the feistiest little humans I’ve ever known. She was stubborn, spirited, and fiery. She cleaned her house from top to bottom every day and had her hair perfectly colored and styled anytime she came outside —even if it was just to spend time by the pool with all of us.  She had strong, often unwavering perspectives.

Once, many years ago, I brought a few neighbor friends to Mimi’s pool with me. They were shocked and horrified to discover that Mimi buttered her hot dog buns. The truth is, Mimi buttered everything: whether hot dog buns, dinner rolls, or pills for her dogs that she would then pop into the freezer. Where there was food, there was an opportunity for butter. 

Mimi took meticulous care of her home, finding ways to repurpose anything and everything. When a potted evergreen near the house turned brown, she simply spray painted it green and wrapped a decorative bow around it. When a table or lamp started to fade, she whipped out a paint brush or can of spray paint and gave it new life. 

Mimi loved dogs and had one during most periods of her life. Wags, Bruno, Saffron, and Lucy to name a few. Anytime we visited with Duke, her first order of business would be to feed him a Milk Bone (the extra large size, of course), and after he finished the massive Milk Bone, she would sneak Cheetos and crackers to him underneath the table. When we suggested that perhaps he’d had enough treats for the day, she said (several times), “oh, he can have just one more, can’t he?” There was no point in arguing. 

Mimi was fiercely independent. As her health and body declined over the course of the last year, she refused help from everyone aside from my mom. At this same time, she also started refusing visitors, because she, in her own words, “looked terrible.”

IMPROMPTU Visit WITH MIMI

After refusing a visit for several months, on Saturday, on July 30th, she let me come upstairs to spend some time with her in her bedroom. 

Mimi and I spent part of the afternoon together, as she went through her drawer of (immaculately organized) costume jewelry, giving me the pieces that she thought I would like. She wore her sunglasses, indoors, the entire time —her go-to “trick” for when she didn’t feel she looked her best. She tried to give me her “beautiful suede rust-colored jacket” which was, as it turns out, 100% polyester (I of course didn’t have the heart to tell her this). She told me the story of when a heel fell off of her shoe many years ago, and I gave her one of my own shoes to wear in its place, and she said (out loud), “tsk tsk tsk” when I didn’t remember the details as well as she did. At the age of 91, her memory was better than mine.

At the end of our visit, I helped her into the bathroom, where she liked to sit and smoke cigarettes, which she kept in a neat little pile on a porcelain dish on the bathroom counter. It was, she said, her nightly pleasure. 

When I said, “I’ll see you soon, Mimi,” she replied, “Oh Sarah, you’re not going to see me for a very long time.” 

As I left our visit, I said, “I love you” in my loudest voice. Mimi did not hear well, and she insisted that her hearing aids didn’t work, so she rarely wore them. She said, “I love you too.”

Mimi passed away a week later, on the evening of Friday August 5th at 11:30 pm. My impromptu visit with Mimi would be my last. It turned out, she was right; I wouldn’t be seeing her for a while. 

Our visit together was an immeasurable gift and a tremendous blessing. As it turned out, that Saturday was Mimi’s last “semi-good day” before a rapid decline in the week that followed. 

The Take-Away

This visit would not have happened without the space and flexibility on my calendar to pop over to her house to see her. 

I spent a lot of years being triple booked and “too busy” for a lot of things. It has been a continuous practice for me to work to untether impact from busyness. My Saturday visit with Mimi was a powerful reminder to keep practicing. 

May you create a few moments for the things that matter to you most.