And Those Lines in Between
There is something beautiful about aging. I truly have believed this from the time I was just a little girl myself, always hoping to be caught up in “grown up” talk. I found myself in purest silence when listening in on all that those around me of adult ages would commiserate about. My silence usually was due to me hoping I would not be shooed away if I was to be discovered to still be in the room as the grown ups talked around me. It was great to be lucky enough to be unnoticed. That fly on the wall- happy me. However, once grown-up, you find yourself now amongst the adults, facing adult life, seeing and hearing adult problems. Listening can only go so far before you find you are prompted to have a response or reaction. Being on the adult end requires vigilance of every word and gesture spoken or expressed.
I have learned that it is important to understand someone deeply to ever even start to try and pretend to know them at all. This is why getting to know people is an investment, one that has to require time and energy. Until one can fit into someone’s shoes, all there is to do is listen, however little of information one gives you of themself one moment at a time.
There is a woman at the gym I frequent. Most of the time I get to hear her speak is when we are in the sauna. This last time, she was in a good mood. The best mood, in fact, I’d ever witnessed her to be in. I pretended to be nonchalant when she began speaking to me. With the dimness inside the sauna combined with no one usually looking around, I stayed indifferent as she began to speak directly at me, I noticing that she was careful not to look me right in the eyes.
She had something to share with me. It was a picture of her now 10 years-old son. The picture she showed me was of a healthy looking boy, full of smiles, what seemed like genuine peace and joy. I told her I was happy for her. I then asked her how many years had it been since the last time she got a picture. Here is where I rewind.
About two years ago, there was this woman in the sauna rampantly venting out about how angry she was with everyone around her, how she couldn’t trust anyone anymore. As others turned to their ear buds or found a way to kindly exit, I found myself needing to sit there and just let her keep talking. I was hungry to understand her- I knew there was reason for her pain.
Her eyes were glazed. Whether she was on something or not, something told me she was speaking of painful truth. And she was. I knew it was just a matter of time before she would unravel the cause of her fury. Without really taking a moment to lead into it or explain, she blurted how her son had been taken away from her after neighbors reported her as, in more or less words, an unfit mom. At that instant, I hurt inside. I could not ever imagine anyone taking any of my children away from me. I had to hurry to cast any judgment aside; those voices that were quickly swarming in my head of reasons why her son must have been taken from her. This didn’t matter. A mother was grieving in front of me and I had to allow her to do just that. The moment belonged to this mother before me and I spoke my heart’s truth and firmly said, “You will do what it takes to get him back because he is worth your fight.” I recall feeling a pause from her and with rage, seeing her get up and walk out.
Many times after, I would see her walking around the gym, talking to herself with clear expressions of anger still, muttering distrust towards the world. Still, every chance I found myself in the sauna with her, I remained in my position to give her strength. I would tell her that she is beautiful and strong and all will be well. Once again, she would storm out angry, not a word to me to follow.
Post-COVID, I was happy to see the sauna eventually reopen (my finish-line after my workouts) and there she was, in the sauna talking, still speaking of anger amongst silenced women in the room. It had been an obvious while, but she was relentless in speaking about her mistrust toward the world, adamantly exclaiming how she trusted no one anymore.
It was hot in that sauna. Perhaps this was why I held not a moment longer to ask her, “How is your son?” She quickly looked up at me before looking away, not sure if she recalled me from the last encounters or not. She went on to repeat what I had already known. Once more, I found myself only having the desire to feed her strength. I heard myself say, “All is well because you are beautiful and strong. You will keep fighting for him and he will wait for you.”
I felt her rage again. This time, she managed to say, “Your life must be so easy.” This time, her getting up and leaving once again was for me. I needed to be left alone to ponder on her spoken words directed at my heart. While another woman thanked me for talking to her and another gave me a nodding smile, suggesting that the lady had been talking out loud before I came in, I quickly found myself in the woman’s defense. I heard myself saying she has been through a lot and that I just keep telling her that all will be well, anything I can do to convince her we weren’t or aren’t all bad. Shortly after that day, I ran into her at the front entrance. I heard myself tell her that I noticed she was slimming down and was looking real good. I saw a gentle smile and before she could begin to say anything negative that I could sense she was starting to mutter about herself, I made a point to quickly turn and walk away.
You keep planting good seed, guess what buds out into fruition? Fast-forward to our last encounter, I learned that her son had been adopted. She recently found the courage to find the adoptive mother and called. To her surprise, she got a response after leaving a message. This is how she was able to get that picture of her boy. How many years since she had last seen him? Four years. This, because she always spoke as if the incident was just like yesterday had surprised me, but I showed no reaction to her admittance. All I could do was rejoice in this new chapter I told her she was in.
She did what I had hoped for some time. She didn’t get up to storm out. She sat there, smiled, and said, “Yeah. I guess so.”
And as we parted our ways for the day, the words she spoke to me last time echoed in my ears, “Your life must be so easy.” She may never realize how her words had needed to put me in my place. I realize I have strength to give only because I have not been stripped to such weakness as this mother had to endure.
Each of us are an unfinished novel. Although I have my own chapters to consider as cliffhangers, her chapters I dare not write in mine.
That book and its cover. Interesting what is discovered when you mute the noise and read between the lines.
