Waiting at the front desk for my paper bracelet, I see elderly mother and daughter emerge from the door to the imaging areas. Daughter stops to get her bracelet cut off while mother waits, a pleasant but fixed look upon her face. Daughter then takes mother's arm in hers and heads out. I notice that the mother's expression never changes, is somehow vacant behind the pleasant look, and her head wobbles as she walks. Immediately, I am stricken with profound sadness.
The mother and I have had several conversations in the waiting room in the last week or so as she waited for her daughter, who is being treated for lung cancer. Once she sat down next to me, and once I sat down next to her. Both times she was a well of words spilling over. I learned about her daughter's cancer, a few of their struggles, and a little about the rest of the family. She shared at length about her old neck injury and recent strokes, about the long and ongoing wait to see a neurologist. (She did not remember the word for that specialty; I helped her guess it.) From her attire and her words, it was clear that she and her daughter who lives with her are poor. My heart went out to her as I listened.
Seeing her today (March 1) and realizing she did not recognize me, I assume she has had another stroke. I cannot stop thinking about her and praying for her and her daughter. I hope I have the opportunity to see her again.
You are so able to see through to people's souls. A great gift!
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