Journal of a Living Lady #156

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

She was working at the window of a little eatery near our home. I stood eye-to-eye with her, this dark haired lady whom I guessed to be in her middle forties. I ordered a hamburger with lettuce and onions. Mayonnaise on the side.  While writing my fast-order in restaurant hieroglyphics, she stared at me intently. I said nothing, but sat down with my soda in one of the booths facing the blaring television mounted on the wall.

 

When my order was called, I appeared again at the window. The lady asked me if I were the Living Lady who wrote in the newspaper. I answered, yes, and smiled. Frequently I am recognized, even though the picture at the top of this column was made when I was almost forty, days before my initial diagnosis of breast cancer. Admittedly, the photo is grossly out-dated. My hair and face have aged, but apparently I still have distinguishable features. Some people tell me it is the eyes. Others say the smile. Probably it is the double chin.

 

The lady introduced herself and carefully spelled her name as it was unusual. We talked briefly. She chatted about the restaurant, her health, and her family. She told me how much she enjoyed the column. How it inspired her. I stammered a thank-you as I generally do, always surprised that anybody could be so encouraged by the writing of a cancer patient.

 

I took my order and returned to the booth. To my surprise, she joined me. The lady wanted to know what kept me going. I explained that it was God’s grace that had brought me this far, but that I was ready for heaven whenever it was my time. In my view, heaven wasn’t a sad ending to life. It would be an exciting new adventure, too wonderful to fully absorb with our finite minds. Though her gaunt eyes looked weary, they brightened as we talked. She went back to the kitchen and I finished eating.

 

Just as I was about to leave, the lady appeared again and put a $20 bill in my hand.

 

“You don’t owe me any change,” I said.

 

“No, no,” she replied. “I want you to have it.”

 

Normally I would have argued or handed the money back. For some reason I accepted the $20 graciously, knowing in my heart that she really wanted me to have it.

 

“Thank you,” she said. “You don’t know what an inspiration you are to me.”

 

As I unlocked my car, I thought about what I could give to her. Generally I have extra copies of my book in the car. I inscribed the inside cover of one, being careful to spell her name just as she did.

 

The restaurant had new customers, so I quietly placed the book in her hands. She thanked me and smiled.  I left, never seeing or hearing from her again.

 

Recently I was reading the obituaries in the paper and notice a familiar name. It was the lady from the restaurant. My heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. But it was. She was so young. Nothing in our short exchange had indicated to me that she was very sick. I was stunned. No cause of death was listed and I was saddened and puzzled.

 

Yesterday, after church, I decided to stop by the little restaurant. It was closed. The tiny grocery establishment adjacent to it was open.  That was good. Slowly I ambled to the font door of the store with my steadying cane. I gathered some bread, milk and a little candy for some neighboring children who didn’t have much to eat this week.

 

As the clerk was checking my items, I pulled out a long-forgotten $20 bill, hidden in the side pocket of my purse. Immediately I noticed a picture of the restaurant lady posted near the cash register.

 

“What was the cause of her death?” I asked, pointing to the photograph. There was a long silence before the cashier answered. “She committed suicide.”

 

Momentarily breathless, I picked up the sack, my cane, and returned to the car. Tears welled as my mind replayed the encounter this lady and I previously had.  She had called me an inspiration. Apparently I wasn’t inspiring enough or perhaps too inspiring. Certainly I didn’t recognize that this lady, with her inquiring eyes, was seeking more than a casual conversation. I wish I had been more attentive. It was a haunting lesson.

 

As surely as we are born we will die. Yet I am certain it isn’t supposed to be by our own hand or on our own timetable. Death, especially an untimely, senseless death, is humbling to those of us still living.

 

God, don’t ever let me forget that there are lots of hurting folks all around. Help me to have sensitive eyes and ears. Allow me to be an instrument of love and reconciliation for as long as I shall live. Amen.

 

March 21, 2002

nancyk@alltel.net