What I didn't Know

Mrs. Foley was in her eighties and had a nephew who rarely, if ever, visited. The rest of her family had died. She latched onto me like a hungry child looking for nourishment and acceptance. We met at a local retirement home where I had agreed to teach Tai Chi classes during my lunch hour for one month. She was always front and center, ready to do any move I suggested. I knew she counted on me coming each week.

Once the class ended, she asked for private lessons. How could I say no? At the time I didn’t know her story, but I felt her need. The “lessons” quickly morphed into a ride to the bank, the grocery store, or to run some errand, and then we would have lunch somewhere, usually Arby’s. That was when she would tell me about her lonely life in New York, living in a hotel with an abusive husband who she finally left. She never learned to cook or clean because those services were provided by the hotel. Her nephew moved her to Texas, but not near to him. I could feel the hurt and sadness, and gladly supplied what comfort I could.

When Christmas came, I asked if she’d like to ride around town looking at the Christmas lights with my husband and me. What a night we had! She wore her ancient fur coat and somewhat damaged beaded necklace. Her blouse had spots where bits of food had fallen. Her pants were threadbare, but the smile she wore lit up the whole car. We took her downtown to see the Capitol and the downtown lights. Her contentment was palatable. So was mine. I didn't know how much this ride would mean to me.

Not long after, she entered the hospital. I visited her in ICU. I was her only visitor. The hospital asked me to sign papers for her, but I explained she had a nephew who should do that. Unfortunately, I had no way of getting in touch with him. Each visit, I stayed in the ICU as long as they allowed. I would ramble on to her about meaningless topics, dampening her parched lips with a wet sponge. She made no comment, just looked up at me and smiled.

One morning, as I made my daily call to the nurse’s station asking how Mrs. Foley was, the nurse explained she had passed away during the night. I’m not sure if I cried more for her or me—for her aloneness at the end of her life or my inability to do more.

But what I do know, and what I cherish most, is that Christmas ride. Her short, white hair curled around her face, which bore an ecstatic smile. She was so content to be with someone who cared.

This season we have an opportunity to bring light to someone’s solitude. Could you ease a family member’s burden by delivering food? Is there someone you can share a cup of coffee and sweet conversation with?

Or maybe just provide someone with a trip to look at the lights.

Kayla J.W. Marnach is the author of the Can-Do Kids Series, picture books that help parents, caregivers, teachers, and counselors have the toughest of conversations with children.