connections

Our lives are all about connections. Or at least they should be. As we walk through life, we encounter millions of people. We leave a mark on them. I don’t think we are consciously aware of the impact that our lives, and our interactions, have on others. Our interactions with our families, with our friends, or with strangers, all have a much greater impact than we realize.

Some people are watching. Some people, like me, are observers. (Well, at least the ones who don’t have their faces in their phones, narrowly missing walking into telephone poles and onto busy city streets.) I see the electrician in the restaurant who sits askew in his chair, because his back hurts. I see the man walking out of the grocery store, wearing a cheerful face with his cap jauntily dancing lopsided on his head, and I want to know his story. I see the tiny little lady in the first floor apartment, who cross-stitches every night, with her television set showing the news; her little cat watches her work very intently, and I wonder what he thinks of her.

When my mother was visiting for a few days not very long ago, I spent some time taking her to various places. When we went to pick up her eyeglasses, they weren't quite ready yet. So we sat in the corner. At first I was looking at my phone, but I very soon realized that I needed to focus on her. I remembered that she was only here for a few days, and being wise (in some things) I started to talk with her. She was reapplying makeup in one of the many mirrors at the store. As we talked, I started taking photographs. And then, I started recording some videos. I asked her what made her happy, and what made her smile. Her responses were both sad and beautiful. Our interaction was beautiful. We've traveled a journey together. We've had our ups and downs. And sometimes, it’s tough to convince her to be candid and honest with her feelings. I did get some beautiful photographs. Of her smile, her real smile. Not the one she makes when she’s trying to be someone that she’s not.

The two of us weren't the only ones impacted by our exchange. Amrita (the young lady who helped my mom with her new glasses: she fitted them properly, and made sure that Mom had everything she needed) was watching us. I didn't realize it until we were getting ready to leave. I suppose it was because I was so focused on my mother, that I didn't see her. She had tears in her eyes, she told us that seeing our interaction made her feel good, it made her feel good to see me taking care of my mother, and we reminded her of her own mother who was so very far away, whom she couldn't be with. She gave my mother a hug as we walked out of the store. Her reaction completely floored me: that I had affected someone so strongly, and that I, who am usually so keenly aware of the people around me, didn't even see it coming.

So, be aware, be mindful. You are leaving a lasting impression everywhere you go.  

first love

His name was Seth. He died in a car crash when we were both ten. We used to chase each other around the church parking lot between Sunday school and the regular service; and again afterward in the afternoon when the sun was beating down and the sidewalks were hot. I wore dresses sometimes, but we still chased each other: around and around that ugly old brown brick church. Sometimes, when you’re both running in circles, you cease to be the chase-ee and become the chaser. It’s fun!

He was riding in the back of a station wagon with his little family: his mother, and his younger brother and sister. He was the only one not wearing a seat belt. His small body flew out of the car like a rag-doll into a ditch many yards away. He was alive when they got him to the hospital. I don’t know, nor do I remember, all of the details. I was very young and I’m sure I wasn't told the entire story. I think he was in the hospital for a day or so. On Sunday morning, during the service, the telephone rang, piercing the preacher’s sermon. It rang and rang and rang. Ominous. Foreboding. The preacher's wife took what seemed like ages to walk the length of the sanctuary, down to the church office, to answer it. I remember the ice that filled my heart. She finally returned, with a haggard step, and stood at the edge of the steps. He was gone. I remember looking out the church window; it was early October and there were still blades of grass peaking from underneath the snow covered parking lot. I remember thinking he would never see them again. And I remember the ice that gripped my insides.

I always thought, after that, if he had not gone, that we might have grown up together and gotten married. Of course, one never can tell. Still, he remains my first love.

Photo credit: @flatbushnelson on Instagram.