It is always so easy to count the many things that make me happy. But sometimes it takes things that bring tears to my eyes that make me appreciate how really much I have and how fortunate I am.
This time it was a couple of minutes in Walmart when I got a new realization that not only do my children love me but they show it in so many ways. And how fortunate I am for something I take for granted.
Not so the lady I met at Walmart.
Checking out on a long and slow moving line, I noticed the woman standing alone, a bag in her hand, obviously looking for someone. I smiled at her, enough of a gesture to start her chatting with me as I waited. “I’m too old to be shopping,” she said before asking, “how old are you?” When I told her she responded, “you shouldn’t be shopping either but I see you are. You’re younger than I am so I guess it’s ok.”
She found a friendly ear so continued, “I’m 88 years old and I live alone,” she explained, obviously happy to have someone listen to her, “but my son lives close and I’m here waiting for him. He told me to wait and he’d be right for me.” She continued to search the faces of all the people in line or walking past.
They she began again. “It’s tough getting old. Nobody want you around. You can’t do anything. I try to go out, I try to do things, I like to stay active. But it’s different.” I nodded, as she continued “and I don’t live with my son because he doesn’t want me. It’s been very difficult. I wish I weren’t here.”
Not seeing anyone coming to find her, I continued talking to her and said, “ah, life is pretty good. There are good things that happen. I think I’ve had a great run so far.” You might think so, but not me, she muttered.
Within a couple more minutes, still waiting in line, both of us silent, I saw a heavy set middle-aged man coming toward her and yelling, “There you are mother, I’ve been looking for you for half an hour.” “I’ve been standing here waiting for you,” she responded. “I told you to wait over there,” he said, pointing to the opposite side of the checkout counters. Come on, let’s go now.” As he shouted at her, he turned his back and continued to walk towards the door. She started moving, behind him, toward the door and he continued, in range of everyone still waiting in line. “I’m going to have to sign you in to that assisted care apartment. I know you don’t want to go, but I can’t do this anymore. You need help, you need your medicine, you don’t do what you’re told, you can’t do anything right.” He continued walking briskly as she walked a few feet behind, following.
As she passed me she said quietly, “Do you see what I mean that I haven’t had a good run? It’s been nice talking to you though. And I’m glad you have.
Merry Christmas!”
