It's patellar reflex, impossible for me to resist–I have to say "God bless you" when somebody sneezes.
And so it went the morning I met the crazy lady at Panera.
It wasn't that I was asking God to bless the crazy lady; I didn't even know she was crazy yet. It was much more a common courtesy, a social grace, my manners triggered in knee jerk.
My plan was to meet a friend (who would eventually show up 45 minutes late) but I had gotten there early to write. I hadn't even noticed her sitting to my left until she sneezed, right about the time CC should have arrived.
"Godblesshew," I offered without looking up, my subconscious more aware than my conscious as transcribed thoughts appeared on my screen.
"I can't wait to move at the end of April," she began, mistaking my "blessing" as conversation opener. It wasn't.
I smiled, nodded and my attention returned to my laptop as she continued to explain…attempted to return. "My daughter's closet literally backs up to mine, you could cut a hole in either to connect our apartments." Southern and too polite to ignore her, I became hostage to her will and way, a fast-talking deck of personal, uninvited and obscure thought dealt like a pro, barely allowing enough room for oxygen, let alone a response.
Conspiracy theory threaded her pearls–Obama was the anti-christ (we don't really know where he was born…) and he and Hitler had more in common than not (you can find it on You Tube); identity theft is rampant (cross-cut shred your mail, divide it, put pieces in separate, heavy trash bags filled with water and let it sit…for months); our government supports a culture of death, allowing murder of children up to two years old for no reason. She had four cats; four indoor cats in a 500-square-foot apartment. I also learned about her health issues, everything from allergies to irritable bowel and what would happen if she ordered that caramel latte I was eyeing.
It wasn't pretty but it saved me money and calories.
As she hopped one bizarre, convoluted trail after another, I watched her. Short-cropped gray hair covered in a multi-colored hand-knit beanie; skin, grooves deep and many from years chained to smoke; a bag seemingly full of everything; a book on the table, opened but turned over, its title begging my curiosity.
"Are you okay? You seem worried…" it was the first time in 30 minutes she tried to engage me. I hadn't heard what she last said but I'm sure my face indicated concern; as much as she had told me, in spite of the venom and vinegar dripping from her lips, I wondered about her. Her story. Her life. Her sickness. Her pain.
What in her world would allow her permission to not only think so many of the things she shared, but to believe it was okay to impose them on a stranger?
"Oh, no, not worried," I assured her. "Just processing everything you've been talking about…." She smiled, satisfied.
She gathered her things, we said our goodbyes and I wished her well with her future move.
I sat there shaking my head, trying to account for all the things she had shared in the course of 45 minutes.
It occurred to me the crazy lady wasn't much different than the rest of us….
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She just needed someone to listen.
She lives down the street from me (I wonder what she was doing in your neck of the woods?)…thanks for the perspective.
This is the funniest post. Wherever did you find that picture of this old lady with the inquisitive cat? I laughed out loud! It makes me wonder what I will be babbling when I get older. Hopefully I will have someone to listen too! Great post!
She should start a blog. That’s what I do. 😉
Love this, Robin! From the moment you started describing this woman, her loneliness leapt off the page at me. As a social worker, I often feel like I’ve HEARD it all but I know I haven’t always listened- perhaps the hazards of my trade. On the job, I’m hearing, assessing, planning, figuring out how to move this person forward and reduce their problems, if able. But to listen, purely listen, even when it doesn’t always make sense or you’d rather do something else, is one of the greatest gifts we can give another person. I’m sure you’re attention made a big difference in that woman’s life. I wonder when the last time was that anyone listened to her- and is that part of why she is crazy now?
Well now I would say that God did bless her with you to listen. Fantastic.
My mom has lived by herself for about 13 years and she can ramble to no end when she starts. I just listen and comment occasionally until she slows down. She’s 80 years old now and starting to forget short term things. I am concerned.
Ive started to think all that stuff people {like her} share is just something that’s festered so long – because nobody listened when it was just a simple blemish..
Blessings!
Funny how true that really is.
she has a young relative in my first period class! bless you for listening. important to remember that jesus allowed interruptions….
uh…oh. I see my future when I can no longer blog.
I’m already saving the big sacks.