It is always an honor and a privilege to have Kindness Activist funds to share with the world. But today may have been the most special and heartwarming use of the money to date.
Today, October 20th, is what is known to my family as Mary Day. October 20, 2002 is the day my mom, Mary, died of colon cancer. So, to mark the occasion and to reflect on her, I always spend Mary Day doing things that Mom loved. Usually that means getting my nails done, perhaps playing a slot machine at a casino, doing some laundry, eating dessert first, drinking a glass of wine, shopping, and dining on good food.
I was feeling sad this Mary Day. It is the 20th anniversary of her death, and as the years go by, the memories fade a bit and that is depressing. I don’t want the memories to go away – I want to remember the feelings, the smells, the sights. But time slowly erases some of them.
I have gotten better at
not “blurting” about death to strangers on Mary Day. The first few years, oh my, those poor salesclerks. You see, I have experienced quite a bit of
death, and I talk about it openly. But that
is not true of most Americans, so when I “blurt” about my mom dying,
unsuspecting clerks usually turn white and quiet. It’s awkward.
Today I only blurted to the woman who helped me at Sephora (my annual
pilgrimage to the make-up store to get new lipstick (as mom always wanted me to
wear) and perfume).
After an afternoon of
shopping, I treated myself to a nice meal at True Food, a restaurant in the
Mosaic District in Northern Virginia. I
ordered a fancy salad and cozied into my seat – taking in the ambiance of the
space and texting with my sister.
I noticed two women
sitting side by side at a table near me.
I don’t think we consciously think about it, but when dining out with 2,
typically the diners sit across from one another. Yet here were these women, side by side. I tried not to stare, but I did
watch. And what I witnessed was
beautiful.
It became clear that this
was a mother and daughter. And that the
traditional roles of mother and daughter had been reversed. The daughter, perhaps a bit older than me,
softly and gently cared for her mother. She
spoke to her. Touched her lovingly. Held up a glass with a straw for the mom to
take a drink.
I didn’t notice the mother
speak, she may be non-verbal. And by the
look in her eyes and the care she required, it appeared that she has dementia. Her daughter treated her like a queen, and I felt
honored to witness their quiet love.
I decided that paying for
their meal would be a wonderful use of Kindness funds, so I went to find my
waiter and ask if the women had paid their bill yet. Sadly, they had, so I could not treat
them. But then I had another idea – a gift
certificate. I asked the waiter to
please bring them over a $50 gift certificate and just explain that someone
wanted to gift it to them.
By the time the certificate
was ready, the women were standing as the daughter was carefully putting her
mother’s coat on and preparing her to go out into the fall air. The server, his back to me, tried to hand the
daughter the gift card and explain, but the woman looked confused and I was not
sure that she was going to accept the offering.
So, I walked over to the
table and explained that the gift certificate was from me. We spoke and I confirmed that they were, in
fact, mother and daughter. I explained
that my own mom died 20 years ago today, and it had been a joy for me to
witness their love for one another.
The daughter smiled a
beautiful smile. She was surprised that
a complete stranger not only noticed them, but was now presenting them with a
gift. And she reached over and gave me a
hug. That’s when my tears flowed. I asked if they come to the restaurant often
and she explained that yes, they live in the area and frequent True Food. “Perfect.
Please use this gift certificate next time you stop in,” I said through
tears.
I smiled at the
mother. I told her how beautiful her
daughter was. The daughter told me that her
name was Susanna and asked if I might be interested in getting together for a cup
of tea sometime. I took her phone number
and look forward to sitting with her and her mother, Patricia, some time.
As I left, the young hostess
(who must have heard about the gift certificate when the server rang it up)
stopped me and said, “That was very sweet of you to do. My mother died, too, 6 years ago. Thank you for remembering your mom and
reminding me of mine,”.
Here’s to the
daughters. Those of us whose mothers
have left us. Those of us taking on the difficult
task of caretaking. Those of us whose
mothers live nearby, and those who mom’s live across the world.
May we be the women they raised
us to be.
And may we celebrate the
women they were/are.
Kindness Activist funds
used: $50
My mom and I, Easter 1967
What a beautiful story.
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