A week or so ago, I posted a note on my Facebook about a heartwarming moment my Dad witnessed at the grocery store.
Dad was in line to check out. A couple of ladies were ahead of him. The lady checking out was average and non-descript. The lady in between Dad and the one being checked out was a little old lady of obvious limited means. She was neat and clean and looked to be doing the best with what she had, which didn't seem to be much. She had a few things, but not much, to purchase. When the first lady was done checking out, she walked around the check stand and spoke quietly to the clerk, then handed her a $20 bill. What she had done, Dad said, was instruct the clerk to pay for the second lady's items and then give the second lady the change from the $20. With that, the first lady was on her way.
I noted when I posted the above story that “Angels are all around us. We, too, can be an angel to someone else, if only we stop to pay a bit of attention to those around us!”
Ironically, I had that day been thinking of an encounter of my own, in the grocery section of another store. It was a year or two ago and I was hurrying to get my shopping done and get home. As I rounded the end of the aisle and headed for the eggs, I noticed that most shoppers were very dramatically avoiding the egg section. I thought, perhaps, that someone had accidently dropped some eggs, but when I looked, all I saw was a person looking at the vast array of egg cartons.
As I got closer, I figured out – though I didn’t understand – why people were avoiding the egg aisle. There in front of me was a woman about my height who was horribly disfigured because of some genetic misfire. Her facial features were somewhat askew. Her hands seemed to be claw-like. She was trying to check a carton of eggs for breakage and obviously was having trouble holding the carton and opening it at the same time.
With a tinge of what seemed to be preparedness for rejection, her eyes met mine and she asked if I could help her check the eggs. I gently took the carton from her and opened it so she could see the eggs. Once the eggs had passed her inspection, I closed the carton and set it in her cart.
As I turned back around from the cart, she reached for my hand and said “Thank you for helping me. My name is Mary.” I replied that I was glad to help and that my name was Leslie. Mary held on to my hand and said “Thank you, Leslie, for helping me. I don’t handle these cartons so good.” We chatted a moment and then said our goodbyes.
While we were together, a number of people walked by, some very obviously were aghast that someone such as Mary would dare to be within their eyesight. I wanted to slap them. In that moment, I didn’t feel sorry for Mary, but I did feel badly for how a large chunk of society had treated her. Her physical handicaps were difficult enough to deal with. She didn’t need to deal with all of the emotion crap humans heap on each other as well.
What little help I was able to offer Mary was miniscule compared to the impact our brief encounter had on me. We humans, no matter our differences, can come together if we just give it a chance.
I have hoped to see Mary again at the store, but never have. Occasionally, I will think about her and the wonderful, yet brief way she touched my life. Angels are all around us. Mary was one of mine.
