Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Shoved to Them

Home
Catholic
Seeing Our Failings Through the Tears of a Stranger

Seeing Our Failings Through the Tears of a Stranger

Last updated on: August 2, 2015 at 10:04 pm by Rebecca Frech

Seeing Our Failings Through the Tears of a Stranger 2015-08-02T22:04:53-05:00 Rebecca Frech

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

The people in front of us scooted over in the handicapped pew in Mass this morning to make room for a tiny, stooped, elderly woman with a walker. Her daughter guided her carefully to the front of the church and moved the walker out of the way. The people in the pew started to move down further so that she could sit when she turned to leave.

The Mother’s arthritic hand fluttered outward in the direction of her middle-aged child, and her faint whisper of a voice said, “Please stay with me.”

I closed my eyes and silently begged the daughter to give in, instead, with and exasperated sigh she hissed, “No. I’m not staying. I’ll be back in an hour to get you. You’re fine.” She spun quickly and determinedly walked to the nearest exit.

Her mother had no idea she’d gone. She reached again in the direction where her daughter had last been, and softly pleaded, “Please?” When she realized that she had been left, she reached up and, with her fingertips, gently stroked along the contours of her face. Tears misted across her sightless eyes as she reached forward to find where her walker had been placed.

I leaned forward and asked her, “Do you need help?” When she didn’t respond, I repeated myself a little more loudly, and then asked a third time louder still. At last she heard me.

She half-turned in my direction and stated matter-of-factly, “I can’t find my walker. I think it got misplaced.”

It was inches beyond where she had been reaching.

Blind, nearly-deaf, and very nearly unable to walk; she sat alone at the end of her pew, standing or kneeling whenever she sensed movement in the Sanctuary. She knew the Mass by rote memory, and was following along as best she was able. The woman beside her raised and lowered the kneeler, and I reached out gently to let her know she should sit when she stood by mistake.

When it came time for Communion. she knelt down and placed her hands in front of her in anticipation of the Eucharist. She waited patiently, but when the usher approached her, he was asking her to sit down and let the other people out rather than bringing her the Host. “Why should I sit?” She asked in confusion. “I’ve never taken Communion sitting down. I’ve always knelt.” But by then the usher was gone, and there was no one to answer her.

It was absolutely heartbreaking.

She dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips, and I sat sobbing immediately behind her. I reached out instinctively to touch her shoulder and offer what comfort I could, but she flinched away in confusion. It was emotionally devastating to behold.

I fought with myself to not judge her daughter. I don’t know them or their circumstances. This may be the daughter’s only free hour of the week. She had left her mother in a place where she knew she would be safe, and was taking a much-needed breather. Maybe she was an atheist or a Protestant, and found the idea of Mass personally off-putting, but had found the strength and Grace to make sure that her mother attended anyway. I thought of a dozen reasons and more of why she might have left her alone this morning, and more. The reaction of the people around her showed that this was something they were used to seeing.

And that made it so much worse.

I glanced down our row at the six children we still have living at home, and I silently begged them “Please, don’t ever leave me this way. Please don’t leave me blind, deaf, crippled, and confused sitting alone and helpless at the end of a pew. Please remember the woman I am now, giving my youth and my strength to you as my gift. Please remember the woman who chased monsters from under your bed, and held you for hours when you were ill. Remember the mother who baked you cookies, and tickled you until you were breathless. Remember the safety of curling up within the safety of my arms. Please don’t forget how I loved you with all of being – madly and wildly.”

“Please, whatever you do, don’t leave me trapped and alone in the silent darkness wondering where and why you have gone.”

And I began to think then, of my own mother, and how I am teaching my children by example. Every time that I sigh and roll my eyes because she’s calling on the phone to clarify something for the hundredth time. The way I allow myself to be frustrated with her slow and awkward gait instead of walking slowly and patiently beside her. That I sometimes wish we could have holidays with just us, enjoying the quiet routine of our everyday lives.

Every time that I have abandoned her just as the daughter in Mass did this morning.

Each and every one of those times, there is a child nearby who is listening and learning from my example. Learning how they will someday treat me. And it was crushing to realize that all the things I hope for, I do not do myself.

Somehow I’ve allowed myself to stop seeing my mother, and see instead only the old woman she has become.

I’ve somehow forgotten the way she would swing on the swing beside mine for hours, the two of us scream-singing Shirley Temple songs to the clear summer sky. I forgot the curve of her body, and how I would curl into in in late nights after having a nightmare, finding safety in her embrace. The girlish-ghoulish grin on her face as she told campfire ghost stories with a flashlight held under chin. The young, strong woman who would grab tightly onto my hands and spin us both until my feet lifted from the floor and I felt as if I could fly.

She was young once too, and gave herself over to the raising of my brothers and me. She had dreams that she set aside or delayed because we were her whole world, just as she was, for many years, our whole world. Selfless and thankless. And I have repaid her by pushing her out to the periphery of our busy lives when she should be in the middle of it.

I called her on our way home and invited her down in August to celebrate our son’s 14th birthday with us, and I offered to help her set up a Skype account. She may not live nearby, but that’s no reason for her to not be an integral part of our lives.

Because she deserves to be.

Don’t miss anything! Follow Shoved to Them on Facebook

Photo credit: By geralt (www.pixabay.com) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

Uncategorized

Previous Post

July 30, 2015

To Live and Ride in LA

Next Post

August 4, 2015 To The Patron Saint of Toddlers

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Uncategorized

Select a Month May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 June 2011 May 2011 April 2011 March 2011 February 2011 January 2011 December 2010 November 2010 October 2010 September 2010 August 2010 July 2010 June 2010 May 2010 April 2010 March 2010 February 2010 January 2010 December 2009 November 2009 October 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009 May 2009 April 2009 March 2009 February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 September 2008 August 2008 July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Who said, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men”?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Moses Peter Paul Jesus