A Buried Treasure
She is your neighbor. She lives in that house down the
street where the grass gets a little tall in the summer. The
sidewalks remain covered in snow a little longer than most
of the homes in your area. During your early morning drive
you'll see her outside in her housecoat and slippers
sweeping the porch. Even on a warm summer day she wears a
heavy sweater.
Every so often you see her walking down the street with her
fold-up push cart heading toward the grocery store. For the
most part she is invisible to the world. She has become a
part of the scenery. She goes about her daily routines
asking for nothing from the world. And the world responds by
doing nothing for her.
The truth is she could die tomorrow and you most likely
wouldn't even miss her.
"They're selling that old house down the street. You know,
where that old lady lived."
"I saw a sign at the grocery store. They're having a tag
sale. God, I bet there's some great old stuff in there.
Let's make a point to go Saturday. We'll get there early for
some real bargains."
By the end of that Saturday, when the last piece of her life
has been sold, she will be but a memory for someone. Her
worth to whatever family members laid claim to her property,
will be in dollars and cents. She was just passing through
this life, biding her time.
"How sad," you say to yourself.
How sad indeed. Sad that you never got to know her.
If you had taken the time to say "hello" one day you would
have been blessed. Perhaps walking the down the street one
early summer's eve you would have seen her sitting on the
old oak rocking chair you got at a bargain price the day
they auctioned off her life. That chair was hand made by her
Father. He came to America with the skill of a craftsman and
raised her and her seven siblings with his bare hands. Her
Momma sat in that chair and breast fed every one of them.
She made their clothes, baked bread everyday and tended to a
large garden that they depended on for fresh vegetables.
This mysterious old lady was married once for what would
have been a lifetime for most of us. Her husband died years
ago, but not before he paid the last payment on the home you
rummaged through on Saturday.
Children? They had seven kids and raised them on
hand-me-downs and fresh garden vegetables. Two died at an
early age, one in a car accident when he was just a teen.
The others went on to college and scattered across the U.S.
in search of big dollars, big homes and little respect for
who gave them life and everything they had today.
Except for a few photographs that they split among
themselves as tokens of the "good old days" they each
received their portion of the estate and went on with their
lives.
Some where in her possessions they found an envelope filled
with cash. On it was written the words, "I couldn't spend
your money." For they would send her checks to pay someone
to cut the grass and shovel the sidewalk.
She did it herself.
She had no living relatives and very few friends to visit
her. The ones still around were tucked away in nursing homes
she couldn't get to visit.
Yes, how sad it is that you didn't take the time to say
hello. You would have met an honest to goodness Angel here
on earth.
I am guilty, too. You see, I wouldn't have met her either
except one day while driving past her house I blew a tire
and pulled by the side of the road. While struggling with
the spare, she came out and offered me a fresh glass of
homemade iced tea. I sat on her steps as she rocked in that
chair and told me a lifetime of stories. She talked so long
she apologized for she rarely got visitors. I assured her
that she need not apologize at all. I was the one who was
sorry that I had never stopped by sooner.
"You are an angel," I told her.
In her sweet, gentle voice she said, " We are each other's
angels. We meet when it is time."
She died the other day and I sat on her front porch and
watched her life fall apart.
The neighbors got some real bargains that day. But I found a
treasure.
"I Believe in you!" Bob
Perksbob@bobperks.com