A gentle smile, few words and a great sense of humour.
I was sharing a story recently about my late friend, Jean and decided to write this little piece about her. She was a member of the church where I attended for many years. I’d seen her but really started to notice her the day she handed my niece a gift to mark her baptism.
My niece had been attending church with me. She could go up to the communion rail but received just the blessing as she was not baptized. One day she announced to me, “I want the bread and the wine”. After some discussion with her about what being baptized was, her mother gave consent. At the close of the service, Jean appeared beside Megan, handed her a small package, smiled and strolled away.
I would learn as I got to know her, she did a lot of smiling, sharing and saying nothing. She didn’t lack a voice, she just chose when to use it. She lived in the house she had been born and raised in. She had worked in Toronto, stayed in a room there during the week and then returned home on the weekends.
She had been employed as the private secretary to the head of the Canadian division of a large paper producer. Secretary was not her first choice for a career. She wanted to be a nurse, her father forbid it. She was raised in an age when that was accepted.
Her father also forbid her to marry the man she loved. Ultimately, she never married.
Those experiences didn’t embitter her. I had known her for some time and we had talked a lot before I learned about those parts of her life.
So, what were these small kindnesses?
If you didn’t make it to church and there were things printed in the church bulletin, like announcements or verses she thought would uplift you, it would appear at your door.
If you had something you enjoyed and she came across an article about it some where, it would either show up in the pew at church, get handed to you in an envelope at the local coffee shop or show up in your mail.
If a gentle word and a smile would support someone, she’d find a way to deliver in a very quiet, unobtrusive way.
One day a new priest arrived at the parish. I was serving as church secretary at the time. I made sure he was introduced to Jean as soon as possible and mentioned to him if he wanted to know something about someone without getting gossip, she was the lady to talk to.
A few days later he called me for something. During the conversation he told me he’d just seen Jean uptown ‘working the street’. I paused for a moment and then asked, “she was WHAT?”.
He laughed realizing what he’d said. He then explained he had watched her as she made her way down the street pausing to smile and have a little chat with people she encountered.
Some weeks later I’d scooped her up one morning for a ‘road trip’ to my dad’s to take a Father’s Day gift up to him. Jean loved those unexpected times to accompany me where I was going. We enjoyed each other’s company and it made it easier for her to accept rides from me when she needed to go to an appointment.
As we were having refreshments at dad’s I told the story about our new priest’s observations of Jean ‘working the street’. She laughed and laughed about it. It became something I would gently tease her about on more than one occasion.
One afternoon she phoned me uncharacteristically angry. She’d been at the local coffee shop when one of the regulars arrived sporting a new scooter. Someone in the group got the idea Jean needed one and others joined in pressing the point. Jean was totally capable of walking and was quite proud of her spryness. She was irritated at them trying to impose their ideas as her needs.
I listened without response. I’d rarely heard her so angry, I just let her vent. She fell silent for a moment. After a brief silence she asked if I was still there.
“Yes,” I replied, “I was just sitting here imagining you with a scooter. My God, never mind working the street, you’d be working the county!” She burst into laughter, her anger vented.
I could tell many more stories about this gentle lady. She passed last year at the age of 95. I miss her presence but still have many warm memories of her.
NOTES:
- header image from Pixabay.com
- This is day 2 of 30 in the #HiveBloPoMo Challenge for April.
Shadowspub is a writer from Ontario, Canada. She writes on a variety of subjects as she pursues her passion for learning. She also writes on other platforms and enjoys creating books you use like journals, notebooks, coloring books etc.
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