I ALMOST MISSED IT

Sept, 6, 2019

We started spending Tuesday evenings together about 5 years ago, when I signed up with an organization called Faith In Action.

It was a rocky beginning. She sat across the room in her housecoat and slippers on her floral sofa, hands folded. Her home was pristine, quiet, and dark. 77 years old and living on her own, Mary Alice kept all of her blinds and curtains drawn. It helped her feel safe. Through the light of one dim lamp I could see that her face was set. The first thing she told me was, “I don’t have nobody. I’m by myself and I take care of myself.” And it went downhill from there as I struggled to draw her out over time.

“Would you like to play cards?”
“I can’t play cards. I don’t know how and my eyes are bad.”

“Maybe we could sit outside on your deck tonight. It’s a perfect day.”
“I hate the sun. It makes my air keep turning on and my bills are already too high.”

“Guess what? I’m going to Hawaii!”
“Well, I hope it’s cleaner than when I was there. I had bugs all in my suitcase when I got home.” (Yes, that is an actual quote.)

Turns out Mary Alice had a rough life. Distant, hard-to-please parents. Two abusive husbands who didn’t want children – both passed from long battles with cancer. Other family members who seemed full of “take” and very low on “give” – all gone now. Mary Alice had to fend for herself and, in her mind, protect her heart. But she still wanted company, so here I was - sitting across the room from this beautiful creature, and not a clue how to reach her.

After a few months of awkward visits, I thought about calling Faith in Action back and telling them that this match up wasn’t going to work. Truth be told, I signed up for the program for mostly selfish reasons. I was longing for an older woman to speak into my life. A mentor. Someone who would tell me her life stories, talk about how she held her family together, share how she got through menopause. I wanted secret recipes, and secrets to life. I hoped she would pour her wisdom into me as we sat at her kitchen table over a cup of coffee and a good laugh.

But surely this pairing had a purpose. So Tuesday after Tuesday I sat awkwardly across from Mary Alice while she talked - mostly about her fear of having no one to take care of her when she was not able on her own anymore. I tried to interject hope into her situations, talk through possible solutions, offer help with what I could, and, most of all, let her know that she was loved. But it was like pushing a rock – a really large one – up a never ending hill. Her ability to go negative on just about any topic was the level above next level.

But then something started to happen - to both of us. I don’t exactly know when, and I don’t know which happened first, but I started to feel a genuine love for this woman, and she started to let me in. I started looking forward to our visits. She started to smile. The hours started going more quickly. Our conversations became effortless, with a fair amount of good-natured teasing and, eventually, lots of laughs. I brought her flowers and she gave me the gourmet QVC food that she ordered but couldn’t eat. We had found our groove and our friendship blossomed. Every Tuesday visit ends the same way – with a hug, an “I love you,” and her constant reminder to “be careful going down those steps!”

Last Tuesday we moved her dining room table so she could vacuum the (non-existent) dust on the rug. The Tuesday before that we started to tackle the clutter in her hall closet. And this past Tuesday, September 3, 2019, she died.

“She’s gone” the neighbor told me when I went to check on Mary Alice because she hadn’t returned my phone calls.

I blinked back the shock and the tears. Hoping for any answer besides the obvious, I blurted out the ridiculous question, “Gone where?”

“A friend found her,” the neighbor continued, shaking her head. “Just sitting in her recliner and looking very peaceful. Must’ve been a heart attack. We’re all very shocked.”

No major illness. No hospitalization. No languishing in a nursing home. The things that Mary Alice had feared and worried about for most of her adult life – they never happened.

Today I attended my first Serbian Orthodox funeral at the church where Mary Alice attended her entire life. It was beautiful and completely unfamiliar. At the end the priest invited everyone to pass by the open casket and say their final goodbye. When my turn came I kissed her forehead, thanked her for the way she touched my life, and told Mary Alice that I loved her one last time.

What an unlikely pair we were.
And I almost missed it.