I met with a dear friend and mentor for coffee today. Before she arrived, I saw a man trying to get the woman with him to sit down in a chair at a table. She was maybe 60. He was maybe a tad older than her. She didn’t have a purse. She looked tidy other than some remnants of a slight bed head hairdo in back of her dark brown hair. He was holding various items in both of his hands and trying to direct her where to sit at a high top table. She was having trouble following his increasingly frustrated directions. You could tell she was upset with herself by the way she kept her head and her eyes down. Getting her to sit on a chair was a challenge to begin with and took several tries and multiple terse instructions from him. She was shorter and, when she finally did sit, the tall chairs made her feet dangle. It was obvious she was uncomfortable by the crinkle in her forehead and the way she kept trying to scoot backward on the chair. He was trying to get her settled so he could go fill their cups with coffee, but with the precarious way she was perched on the chair, he was not leaving and continuing to insist on her sitting down and not moving until he got back.
Everything in me felt magnetically pulled to go sit in the chair next to this woman and chat with her so he could get the coffee in peace. I wanted to ask her name or at least smile at her so she would see a friendly face. I felt bad for the man because he was obviously exasperated. I wanted to politely ask him to consider letting her sit on a chair where her feet could touch the floor so she would feel secure. I wanted to tell him I would be happy to chat with her if he wanted to take a few minutes and enjoy his coffee.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I stood there just off to the side, trying to catch her eye when she finally settled enough for him to feel like he could go get the coffee. I wanted to smile and wink at her, and hope that she’d smile back. Just to keep her occupied while he was out of her line of sight.
I didn’t do any of those things. Mainly because I reminded myself that neither one of them has any clue who I am. Or that I could tell exactly what the situation was, and I understood it. Or that I wasn’t some nutty, nosy stranger. The gruffness with which I had seen him address her intimidated me and I was afraid I’d be barked at. So I stood there and felt the tears welling up in my eyes, finally forcing me to walk to the other side of the cafe so I was totally out of their sight, but I could still see them.
It’s hard when you are wired to be a caregiver.
It’s harder still when you see a need for help like that in both of them and you can’t do anything. He was, understandably, frustrated. She looked terrified and apologetic. He came back with the coffee and saw that she was still terribly uncomfortable. He told her if she didn’t like the seat she was in, she should find whatever table she wanted to sit at and move there. I cringed. But she moved without much to do and they ended up at a table where she seemed a lot calmer. As they sat and had their coffee and pastries, I saw maybe 3 very short exchanges of communication. Otherwise they sat in silence.
I watched them leave later, after my friend had arrived. I mentioned to my friend that I was pretty positive the woman had Alzheimer’s. The way the man ushered her out the door, as he stopped to swipe the crumbs from her pastry off of her jacket before exiting was the final clue. It was an experience witnessing all this that truly broke my heart today.
After my breakfast ended, I went over to church to pick up my son who was helping with some work with the Youth group. I sat in the car waiting for him to finish. As I looked out the passenger window in the tree next to me, was this guy. I was shocked. Only one other time since 2007 have I seen a cardinal on this property. And there one was, sitting in a tree that had lost most of its leaves, looking like a real life version of the logo I designed for Mitzi’s page (that our sweet artist friend Nancy executed so well). The cardinal was in the logo to symbolize my role in Mitzi’s life. It is the “I” in “I’ll Remember For You.” This cardinal was staring at me as if to remind my heart not to doubt for a moment that kindness matters when it comes to caring for those in our path who need extra TLC…????
