She was waiting her turn at the convenience store checkout. She’s an elderly black woman, small in frame, holding on to her walker. She has a quiet and patient presence about her. She let go of her walker and took a few cautious steps to look more closely at items in the display case. She took small measured steps back to the security of the walker. The walker is a middle value one, sturdy with wheels in front, tennis balls in back. I notice these things because my body used to be more frail and tear more easily. I still have my sturdy but no wheels, no frills walker. It’s stored in the garage with the rest of our medical supplies, happily, all are collecting dust now.
She finishes her transaction and makes her way to the front door. She stands and waits. Customers walk past her, she inches hesitantly nearer the door, she goes unnoticed as they easily breeze out under their own steam. She inches up a little closer.
“I’ll hold the door for you.” I said.
“I’m waiting for my ride.” she replied.
“Oh, would you rather wait inside?” I ask as I’m standing outside and holding the door.
She walks out.
We are both wearing masks, so we have only our eyes to add feelings to our words.
When we speak, we look deep into each other’s eyes.
She tells me she is on dialysis now. She’s feeling wobbly because she just finished a treatment.
She goes three times a week, it’s the new phase in her life.
A little compassionate moan comes out of my mouth as I stumble to convey some sympathy for her experience, our eyes still on each other’s. She says it could always be worse. I agree.
My eyes search hers. “How? How could it be worse?” I asked silently.
“I could have no legs.” she said.
My eyes gasp and silently say. “Oh!”
Her ride is her husband, he’s up the street at the bank. He’ll be here shortly. She looks around the corner to see if he has parked on the side. We stand together in an awkward silence. Then I say something about wishing her well. Her eyes look more deeply into mine, searching. To comfort us both she says, “God is good.”
“Yes.” I say. “Life is good.”
We both look upwards. She’s looking at God and I’m looking at the blue sky and feeling the warmth of the sun. There’s comfort now in our silence.
I ask her if she’s alright to wait alone. She says she is. I believe her. I feel her strength, even though I see her frailty. She’s quiet and small, but the fortitude, mixed with gratitude, mixed with resignation, mixed with sadness, is all there.
We wish each other well, and give blessings, and tell each other how much we appreciate one another. By this time in the conversation as I am recalling, it’s blurry how much was spoken out loud. I leave her standing there under the sun and with God.
From my car, while I’m waiting at the stop sign, I see she has gotten into a nice comfy luxury car. I feel grateful she has someone in her life.
I feel privileged for our brief encounter.
(the end)
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