Today we were driving through the city and Kendrick and I both saw an elderly woman..bent over completely, trying to manage grocery bags. As I drove by, I watched a man walk right around her as if she was invisible and we looked at each other as we often do and turned around to help.
Kendrick gets out and approaches her, asking if we could give her a ride somewhere and she looks at him as though she is frightened. I tell him to show her his badge so that she will understand she can trust us and as soon as she saw it she became animated, explaining she has been robbed before and was scared.
We get her in the car where it's warm and I ask where she wants to go. She can't even look up and make eye contact because her back wont allow her to sit up that straight..and she says, "I take the bus as far as I can and I walk home the four miles from there."
My heart immediately breaks. She woman is all of ninety years old, and she's walking that far in the snow and cold.
"You point the way and we will get you home where it's warm" is all I can muster at that moment.
Little did we know that she lived 15 miles out into the country.
After a few minutes of silence, she starts talking about where she's from, her childhood, her neighbors..the landscape and how it's changed over the years. She tells me a story about how when she was a child she had nine cows and two calves. She showed me where she used to run with them...miles of land that she covered on her feet. How she used to find it funny when the calves would get lost and she felt like it was an adventure trying to get them home.
She pointed out homes and told us who lived there, how they died, who lives there now. How Joe built this barn and sold it. Richard used to have a huge herd of cattle but then he moved away. The fire department used to be here..and if you look..you can see my house on a clear day through the trees.
I was transported back through time to her youth..and I could picture her running over the hills chasing her cows without a care in the world. I could see her square dancing with her community in the hall that she pointed out and I smile to myself as if I am reliving her memories with her. I felt the joy in her stories, the kinship with her community, the love of the land.
When we arrive at her house it becomes clear that there is no driveway or sidewalk. Just a hill covered in snow and ice. In it you can see the trail she's left. Deep footprints line the way, on the right side of each footprint is a hole from her cane, on the left, a hand print showing the effort that it takes to climb the hill to her door.
I ask her if I can give her our phone numbers to keep so that if she needs help again, she can call us. She looks at me sweetly from the side and says, "yes."
"My name is Alice. Spelled like A-lice." I giggle at her joke and tell her that I was so happy to meet her and thanks for the stories along the way. She looks at her hands and smiles..the sweetest smile.
Kendrick helps her out...and as if she was made of glass, he leads her to her door. Holding her bags and her hands. I fall in love with him again, like I have hundreds of times since we've been together.
Half way up the hill she stops and turns around. Stands up as tall as she can and yells to me, "Bye, Terralyn!" Waving enthusiastically. As if I was a friend. Not someone she just met.
In that moment, I realize that my initial feeling of pity for her has been replaced by pride in her. She is not a fragile old woman. She is strong. She has survived for over ninety years in the country..and still has the energy to keep going, to be involved in the community, and to share stories of times past with those who will listen.
Thank you, Alice.
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