The Water in the Well

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The Water in the Well

When a group of people are engaged in discussion about how things are in the world, it seems that inevitably, someone will offer up the old, tried and true adage that “Hell can’t be any worse than it is here.” Some, who were involved in or witnessed the discussion, will look back at the time nostalgically years later.

When “years later” arrives, and things here in the world are even worse, (hasn’t that been the general pattern all along?), those enjoying the memories of that conversation are happily recalling something they genuinely love remembering that had happened at a memorable point in their lives.

Let’s say (for the Hell of it) that among those who were there, some literally were sent to Hell. The “Hell” that’s typically presented, with the evil demons jabbing people with their tridents, breathing fire on them or torturing them horrifyingly… the works, in other words. Everything you can think of that you wouldn’t want to experience in Hell, is Hell.

If you think about it, those people, upon arriving in Hell, would likely be remembering that same conversation with even more nostalgic feelings than the original, living, nostalgic folks are.

“You don’t miss the water ‘til the well runs dry” is an old saying that, to me, when addressed to another person, implies that the addressed person lost someone or some thing they had taken for granted, and the only reason they’re sad is because the person or thing they took for granted won’t be there for them to use anymore.

My maternal grandmother died when I was seven years old, and at the end of the funeral at the cemetery, a woman came up to my mother and uttered that line to her. I didn’t understand what it meant, but my mother reacted by fainting and then got smelling salts. That left a mark on my memory because I didn’t understand the saying, and at the time, I thought my mother had died.

My maternal grandmother had lived in the house next door to our house. Our family would usually have Sunday dinner with my grandmother, one of her sons and a grandson who lived with her, alternating between our house and her house. My mother took good care of my grandmother who, although strong, (both physically and in temperament), was very old.

The fact that the woman had said that to my mother and caused her to faint angered many of the people there, and anyone that knew our family and especially my mother, knew it was a most awful thing to say because it simply wasn’t true by any stretch of the imagination.

I didn’t know who the woman who made the remark was and I still don’t. I’ve always thought that she must have been a little off her rocker, or maybe she actually thought that it was a proper thing to say to a grieving person.

I’m not sure if my mother knew the woman or not. I never heard anyone who was there ever talking about who the woman was or why she might have said what she did, so it’s something for which I’ve never had any real resolution.

I do know that at the time I felt whatever level of anger a seven year-old is capable of having about things they don’t understand, and especially when grownups are involved in those things; that lady had hurt my mother. Seeing the reactions of adults told me it was okay to be mad at the lady. I was.

I thought she was the worst lady in the world, but I still didn’t know exactly why.

I can’t pin down the date when I changed my opinion, but I believe it was during my teenage years when I came to the realization that I believed the lady to have been innocent of any wrongdoing. I remembered the way she said it; her expression and the tone of her voice. Innocence was what I saw.

I believe she thought the saying would be an appropriate thing to say to a grieving person, and that she said it out of concern for my mother at the time of her loss – not to mock or hurt her. She was a rather old lady and possibly dementia or Alzheimer’s was setting, or had set in – the same illness from which my mother would eventually die.

It feels good to have forgiven the lady, and myself.