Reaching beyond one’s self
I stepped forward and the next thing I knew I was lying at the bottom of a flight of steps.
I didn’t know the door I opened led to the basement. But it wasn’t a moment before the reality of my mistake became a realization. The abrupt nature of my landing was certainly a rude awakening.
As a youngster at this point, about eight years old, thankfully as I tumbled quickly down the stairs at the bottom of the flight was a landing and the outside wall. When I hit the wall, somehow I stubbed my toe, busting it open on the end. Thankfully, no broken bones, just a bit of bleeding on my toe and residual pain as I picked myself up and walked back up the steps.
I was staying over night with my elderly neighbor, Millie Dobbs, who became an adopted grandmother to me. She lived with her daughter and son-in-law, who were out of town. They didn’t have any children.
Of course, my tumble upset her, but we got my to bandaged and all was good.
We had a light dinner with a warmed ham sandwich and barbecue Charlie’s chips. After dinner, we spent the evening playing games such as Chinese checkers and gin rummy while the television played a John Wayne western in the background.
As we played hand after hand, she talked about her work as a nurse in New York and asked me questions about what I wanted to do in life. Though she was a Yankee of German descent, she seemed to fit right into the contemporary Southern suburbs of Atlanta. She shared with me about meeting Marilyn Monroe during a hospital stay. She had been deceased a few years at that point but she had captivated America during her film career. Even an eight-year-old knew who she was.
Much of what we did was just be. We talked, we laughed, we had fun and enjoyed each other’s presence.
I spent much of my youth doing odd jobs for Millie. I think it was just her way to give me some money to buy things I might want, but it wasn’t a birthday or Christmas. Millie became a regular presence at our house, she spent a lot of time with my mother passing the day. My Uncle Waymond stayed with us for extended stays and Millie always came up to be the fourth in a card game as the evenings were filled by topics the adults knew more about from the shared decades they lived through.
One of my favorite things to do was on her birthday, we walked to an Irish restaurant which had opened about a mile from our homes, and had lunch. They made the biggest hamburgers and put all kinds of things I had never imagined on the burger such as mushrooms and other adds.
Why have I shared these memories, what is the point?
I didn’t have to spend time with Millie. She was not my kin. But her presence enriched my life with her experiences and the time shared. One day, her son-in-law had to move for work to Florida and of course Millie went. Letters back and forth followed until the word of her passing came by phone.
That day saddened me more than I could have imagined.
She really had become a regular part of my life. Even today, I have a storage box and if opened, one would find various crafts which her hands made and gave as gifts. These things are cherished as was she.
Is there an older person in your neighborhood, in your family, in your path which is open to sharing life experience with you and your family?
Don’t miss that chance. Share a bit of your time, and let them do the same, and what you might receive back could give for decades to come.
