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Many people come and go in our lives. Too many fade in memory, maybe never completely forgotten, but life is like that--change. Some people touch us even if the contact is limited, some connection that we are unaware of. This is something that happened to me at work and I wanted to share it.
She walks the three blocks from her house to the store every Tuesday and Friday without fail. I see her walk into the store slowly, almost painfully, each step she takes is carefully thought out. Slightly bent from age, and very thin, with skin that is a bit loose on her aging bones. Thinning white hair that is carefully curled and combed, and a touch of makeup on her eyes, cheeks, and lips. Her clothes are always neat and clean, usually bright colors full of energy as if she is hoping somehow to give herself the appearance of youth. Upon closer inspection she appears very fragile, almost transparent. To look into her milky eyes is like tumbling back in time; all of the experiences she has had are visible there. They are kind, gentle eyes that belong to a mother, daughter, wife, and friend.
Everyone in the store seems to know her and she is usually greeted warmly as soon as she steps in. Most days she comes early enough that the store is not too busy and someone will carry her shopping basket for her and help her gather the few things she needs. The first time I was asked to help her I was a bit nervous. Why do we fear those of advanced age? Is it because we see in them what we fear for ourselves? The body is winding down, there is pain in most movement, and death is near. It is not the person we fear at all, but pain and death that we push away from. Her voice was soft, almost weak but very kind. Her touch was cool as she shook my hand and told me what a nice looking young man I was. I was surprised to see an almost flirtatious smile come and go quickly upon her face.
She told me very little about herself as we walked the aisles slowly; only that she was a widow and her three children were scattered across the country. She misses them but understands they have their own lives to lead. The thought crossed my mind that her children are likely old enough to be my grandparents, but she spoke of them as if they were just starting out on their own....does a mother always see her children as being young?
After a while, she would ask for me by name when she came to shop. Some days I even had her things all gathered for her before she arrived as she bought the same things without fail each time she came in. On those days I would take my break and sit at the snack bar with her and simply talk for a few minutes. We never talked about anything too personal really, but she would ask once in a while how school was going, or if I had a girlfriend. She would pat my hand gently and tell me I was a good boy, an act that should have been embarrassing but somehow was not.
Today she came very late, moving even slower than she usually does, and I greeted her at the door. She gave me a weak smile and asked me to help her to the snack bar to sit a minute. Once there she asked me to gather her things for her as she was not feeling up to the walk up and down the aisles. Of course being concerned for her, I asked if she was all right...she waved my concerns off with a joke. It only took me a few minutes to do her shopping and I settled onto a chair next to her in hopes of conversation. Instead she thanked me, picked up her bags and said her good-byes.
I wanted so badly to carry the bags of groceries the three blocks to her house for her. She did not leave my thoughts all day. Will I see her again do you think or was that the last time? It left an empty hole in my heart watching her walk away. I know that on Tuesday I will be watching the door, waiting and hoping she steps through it.
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