I never know what will stick with me. Sometimes have an inkling of the things I will remember and perhaps even the stories I will tell regarding a certain event, but I am never completely certain of the details, the expressions, the particulars of the interactions that will stay, captured in my minds eye. It is always a surprise what stands out - what jumps to the forefront in my memory. When, teetering at the cusp of sleep, I play back my day, I am often pleasantly surprised by what I see, as periodically misremembered or slightly distorted, but as deliciously rose colored as it may be. Most of the time, what I see gives me insight, not only into the events of the day, but to my character and comportment.
(Tim says his nightly “playbacks” are often narrated by one Angela Lansbury, in character as the grand dame of 80’s murder mystery, J.B. Fletcher, and that, although he can visualize the scene, he can only hear her voice. That may have something to do with him being slightly delusional, or that I am guilty of finding all the seasons on Netflix and tend to “listen” to them as I complete tasks such as researhing, emailing, or trying to sleep. Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying to maintain one environmental constant on the constantly changing road.)
We arrived in St. Louis fairly late, as our arrivals early in the trip went, harried after our first long drive. Tim actually let me behind the wheel, a daring feat of confidence on his part and a true test of skill on mine; we managed to hit traffic coming into the city and my novice clutch foot was forced to work for the rest it so rightly deserved after we parked the car. Haven House, a facility dedicated to providing the comfort of home and a community of support for families traveling to St. Louis for medical treatment, was gracious enough to take us in and put us up for the night in one of their family rooms, complete with kitchen, as well as a laundry facility down the hall. Tim and I got the grand tour – dining facilities, computer lab, playrooms, craft room (with the ceiling covered in a flock of brightly colored paper cranes), gym (volleyball net down tonight), TV rooms. In fact, as we passed through the hall, a family sat, snuggled closely on the couches, faces washed by the colors on the screen.
We bounced out of bed, finding our way downstairs to eat breakfast with the families staying at the facility. Kids roamed the tables greeting each other as adults trickled in, finding hot coffee and a hearty breakfast. After eating and packing up the car, with admittedly less care than before given the biting morning cold, Tim and I got to work, creating fliers for the various donors to the silent auction: massages, golf, photography, hair cuts, vacations, cooking lessons, restaurant coupons.
We ventured to the cafeteria for lunch, eating with two wonderful women who work at Haven House, one of which had been at the facility before its current incarnation, when it was a children’s home. A tired looking man stopped me as I passed his table. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, lightly touching my arm, ”how is your baby?”
Obviously, I was a little confused.
“Sorry…I don’t have a baby.”
“Well, then your kid – are they ok?” he adjusted.
“Nope, not a mom! I think you are thinking of someone else.” I stared blankly at him while smiling with too many teeth.
He called a woman over to where we were talking and as she slid into the chair next to him, he said, “Well, we (he nodded to his wife) saw you check in last night while we were watching TV, and, well, you and that guy just looked so upset and so worn out, we figured your kid was sick and you must have spent the day at the hospital. We were hoping everything was okay. Wanted to find you today and ask.” As he was speaking, a little boy crawled into his lap, grinned up at me, and began to eat lunch.
Atfter washing the tables and chairs in the cafeteria, Tim and I left Haven House, and took a quick spin through downtown St. Louis, taking pictures of the ball field, the river, and the cobbled streets in downtown. We parked the car and sprinted to the arch, racing the cold wind from block to block. Tim and I took pictures of the arch, around the arch, under the arch, walking to the exact midpoint beneath the incandescent structure to take an artistically staged photo of us staring up and the camera capturing us from below.
But, beyond the photographic evidence, I hardly remember being there. I have no recollection of what we talked about, what we did immediately before or after we took those pictures. It must not have been that important. But what I do remember, what immediately sprung to mind that night as I shut my eye and began to replay my day, was the immense compassion, kindness, and support that family showed Tim and I, the childless volunteers not facing any major crisis, whose minor brush with traffic had left the weight of the world on our faces.
No comments:
Post a Comment