It was meant to be...
Makes no difference where you are in the world; people are consistently looking for a connection. It may be subconscious, but...still it is there.
Since the flu is taking over the house I had to go to get a prescription filled and there was a huge queue. Customers were frustrated and not being very nice to the already over-work pharmacy attendants. The place was packed and people, young and old, looked very tired and ill. I was informed it would be a 30 minute or longer wait. So...I found a seat and opened my book.
This woman asked permission to sit next to me. I thought that was super nice and, of course, I said 'Yes'. Turns out my 16 year old grand-daughter was diagnosed that morning with the dreaded flu and her 17 year old son was told he had the flu that day, too. She looked incredibly sad, BUT MORE THAN THAT...her face, her hair, her nose, her eyes looked exactly like Constance, my only sister, who died in 2000.
I could not even hear the words she was saying to me because I wanted to hug her and hold her for a moment. How WEIRD would that have been to this woman? Whoooooosh...the strangest feeling came over me. I mean there is NO ONE LIKE MY SISTER on this planet, yet, here she is: wavy, brown, thick, long hair - half of it pulled back with a sterling silver hair clip. I thought only Constance wore those. If this woman had been wearing Sheseido #something, bright red lipstick...I might have kidnapped her and taken her home just for a cuppa. She was wearing cowboy boots, authentic ones AND wearing them properly with her jeans outside of the boots instead of trying to show off how intricate or beautiful or lovely her boots were. Her boots were for her job or her way of life. She was also wearing what looked like (to me) a real native American pancho - so pretty with lively colours. I continued to stare. The only thing different was skin colour - Constance was this gorgeous light brown tan all year round and in the summer, she looked black. This woman was beige, but the beige was tinged with grief. I am taking all this in while looking in her sad eyes and then a much older woman approached me about my hat and complimented me. I told her most of us wear hats like these in Australia. The older woman lit up and told me she had visited Ayers Rock and she and her husband could not believe it when they were served the BEST martinis they have ever had as the sun set. She then proceeded to tell me she preferred New Zealand because it was more lush. I told her many people say that, but...I bet the martinis weren't as good. She laughed and then explained why her face was black and blue as she lifted her white, flowing hair. My 'new' friend and I gasped. The woman explained that she had fallen over the threshold in church. She exclaimed, 'I've been to that same church for over 50 years and crossed that threshold a thousand times and it got me!' We both expressed our concern, but...my friend had tears in her eyes.
I turned to her and said, 'Oh my, can I help? We have lots of time and I'm a good listener'. DAMN. She, too, had lost her Mother, but only...suddenly and a few days before this past Christmas. Her Mother was only in her 70's and survived open-heart surgery. Her Mother had been doing great and was highly active. Her blood pressure dropped drastically and she fell, too, and died due to an embolism. She and her sister were in shock and the grief was raw. She shared with me how she and her sister delayed having children until later in life and they both felt they had not given their Mother enough of their time in later years. I listened while she wept quietly. I tried to find all the genuinely good things I could say to her; I mean anyone sitting there could feel how much she loved her Mother and the pain she was experiencing. She was not being melodramatic. She (I think) in the few moments she was forced to sit...let it all sink in. Hell, I had tears in my eyes and I gently told her about my Mother and how eternally grateful that I was to be there by her side when she died. We held hands. I felt like I was holding my sister's hand and this woman had NO IDEA what that moment meant to me. I could not tell her that my mind was going 90 miles a minute and that she looked 95% like my only sister. I did not want her to think I was a complete nut job when we were talking about our loved ones trying to get through the flu and the LOSS of one of THE most important persons in our lives.
When my friend's name was called she picked up her prescription and looking at her at the counter, full-length, I had chills. Damn...there was Constance. I got to have a little bit more of her. She walked over to me to thank me and bless me (was not necessary; she helped me more than I helped her)...and I only wanted to see her with a cigar in her hand and big, black, Jackie Onassis sunglasses on walking away from me into the sunset. I might have died, too.
Posted in awe and thankfulness.
Blanco of Tinto & Blanco of The Roaming Stevens
Be kind to others. Everyone has a story.
Since the flu is taking over the house I had to go to get a prescription filled and there was a huge queue. Customers were frustrated and not being very nice to the already over-work pharmacy attendants. The place was packed and people, young and old, looked very tired and ill. I was informed it would be a 30 minute or longer wait. So...I found a seat and opened my book.
This woman asked permission to sit next to me. I thought that was super nice and, of course, I said 'Yes'. Turns out my 16 year old grand-daughter was diagnosed that morning with the dreaded flu and her 17 year old son was told he had the flu that day, too. She looked incredibly sad, BUT MORE THAN THAT...her face, her hair, her nose, her eyes looked exactly like Constance, my only sister, who died in 2000.
I could not even hear the words she was saying to me because I wanted to hug her and hold her for a moment. How WEIRD would that have been to this woman? Whoooooosh...the strangest feeling came over me. I mean there is NO ONE LIKE MY SISTER on this planet, yet, here she is: wavy, brown, thick, long hair - half of it pulled back with a sterling silver hair clip. I thought only Constance wore those. If this woman had been wearing Sheseido #something, bright red lipstick...I might have kidnapped her and taken her home just for a cuppa. She was wearing cowboy boots, authentic ones AND wearing them properly with her jeans outside of the boots instead of trying to show off how intricate or beautiful or lovely her boots were. Her boots were for her job or her way of life. She was also wearing what looked like (to me) a real native American pancho - so pretty with lively colours. I continued to stare. The only thing different was skin colour - Constance was this gorgeous light brown tan all year round and in the summer, she looked black. This woman was beige, but the beige was tinged with grief. I am taking all this in while looking in her sad eyes and then a much older woman approached me about my hat and complimented me. I told her most of us wear hats like these in Australia. The older woman lit up and told me she had visited Ayers Rock and she and her husband could not believe it when they were served the BEST martinis they have ever had as the sun set. She then proceeded to tell me she preferred New Zealand because it was more lush. I told her many people say that, but...I bet the martinis weren't as good. She laughed and then explained why her face was black and blue as she lifted her white, flowing hair. My 'new' friend and I gasped. The woman explained that she had fallen over the threshold in church. She exclaimed, 'I've been to that same church for over 50 years and crossed that threshold a thousand times and it got me!' We both expressed our concern, but...my friend had tears in her eyes.
I turned to her and said, 'Oh my, can I help? We have lots of time and I'm a good listener'. DAMN. She, too, had lost her Mother, but only...suddenly and a few days before this past Christmas. Her Mother was only in her 70's and survived open-heart surgery. Her Mother had been doing great and was highly active. Her blood pressure dropped drastically and she fell, too, and died due to an embolism. She and her sister were in shock and the grief was raw. She shared with me how she and her sister delayed having children until later in life and they both felt they had not given their Mother enough of their time in later years. I listened while she wept quietly. I tried to find all the genuinely good things I could say to her; I mean anyone sitting there could feel how much she loved her Mother and the pain she was experiencing. She was not being melodramatic. She (I think) in the few moments she was forced to sit...let it all sink in. Hell, I had tears in my eyes and I gently told her about my Mother and how eternally grateful that I was to be there by her side when she died. We held hands. I felt like I was holding my sister's hand and this woman had NO IDEA what that moment meant to me. I could not tell her that my mind was going 90 miles a minute and that she looked 95% like my only sister. I did not want her to think I was a complete nut job when we were talking about our loved ones trying to get through the flu and the LOSS of one of THE most important persons in our lives.
When my friend's name was called she picked up her prescription and looking at her at the counter, full-length, I had chills. Damn...there was Constance. I got to have a little bit more of her. She walked over to me to thank me and bless me (was not necessary; she helped me more than I helped her)...and I only wanted to see her with a cigar in her hand and big, black, Jackie Onassis sunglasses on walking away from me into the sunset. I might have died, too.
Posted in awe and thankfulness.
Blanco of Tinto & Blanco of The Roaming Stevens
Be kind to others. Everyone has a story.
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