Maybe she reminded me of my grandmother. The memory of how she could make me feel so loved just by feeling her warmth next to me. Or maybe I was just meant to be that warmth to her that day. Whatever the reason the universe brought us together, even for such a brief moment in time, the lesson of that afternoon has stuck with me for days.
You see, I was preparing to leave town for a work conference in a couple of days. I had my list of things I needed to get done before I could go a different direction than my usual hustle and bustle of mom life. There were emails to answer, errands to run, groceries for which to shop. I was engrossed in my own to-do list, taking every spare minute to scan my phone for last minute logistics I needed to arrange.
I stopped to pick up a scoop and a side from one of my favorite lunch spots while I was out and about that day. The line was longer than normal for that time of day, but I quickly realized it was likely due to the fact that only one person was at the counter to take orders. I proceeded to stare down at my phone, mindlessly scrolling through my inbox, my social media feeds, and my mental to-do lists. I connected with the outside world for only a moment as I checked my place in line and assessed the progress I was making and how long it would be before I could place my order. The truth is, though, that everyone in line around me was doing the same.
My time in line finally came that I could place my order and take my spot on the bench where I would then wait for my to-go order. It's a long bench, meant to accommodate several people at one time. People who don't know each other and seem to know the universal rule that you should leave a typical body's width in between each waiting person. This ensures that you can stay in your own little capsule of space without having to really accept the fact that there are other people around you.
For some reason that day, though, I sat down, put my phone away and just looked around. I made some random comment to the woman sitting at her appropriate distance from me, though I honestly can't remember what I said. Likely something about how busy it was. She agreed and we exchanged some pleasant chitchat while we waited. Perhaps we were both looking for a human connection that day. And then I felt the warmth of a body next to me.
I was sitting at the end of the bench, and just to my left, the sweetest older lady came cruising up in her wheelchair. I turned my head toward her and realized she probably needed assistance. Since the place was bustling and I knew she likely wouldn't ever get heard or the attention she needed, I turned to her and asked her if I could help her. It turns out, she was looking for the restroom and had wheeled herself to the one area where she thought it might be.
I could tell she was confused, so I offered to show her where the restroom was located, not knowing if I should push her wheelchair, or just lead the way. Though her body was frail, she seemed to be able to maneuver around just fine, so I let her follow me around another corner to the ladies room. The door extremely heavy, I opened it for her and held it open while she wheeled herself in, shutting the door as I stepped out and reminding her to lock the door once it was closed.
"Thank you. You're a very nice lady," she said to me. "Oh, it's no problem at all," I said back.
I glanced to the back of the room and saw her caregiver tending to a couple other residents of a senior living community. They caught my eye and mouthed a thank you. I smiled and nodded and headed back to my waiting bench, the other woman still sitting there. "That was really nice of you," she said. "I hope someone is that nice to me when I'm that age."
"It's the little things, you know?" I told her.
Shortly thereafter, we both got our orders, wished each other well, and parted ways. Who knows if I'll ever see either of these human beings again that I encountered that day, but we all shared a connection. It's one I'm grateful to have experienced and have thought about many times since.
It's entirely possible that I could have just kept staring at my phone and never noticed the warmth of another next to me in need of help. She could have stared questioningly at the wrong door only to have to navigate that busy place on her own. We each could have missed that opportunity for a reminder of how important human connection is.
But, that day, I put down my phone and looked around. And as tiny of a moment as this may seem, I'm so grateful I have it to look back on and remember the power of connection.
