“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
― Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire
Not always. But most certainly in the last ten months, and sometimes from the most unexpected of people.
Tonight my husband and I had our night out, when my mom stays at the hospital and we go out for a meal together. For Christmas, most of our family and friends gifted us with restaurant gift cards. Probably assuming we needed a break from hospital food, and boy are they correct. For tonight’s date, we chose from one of the restaurants near home. A newish establishment, to us anyway, having been away for nearly the last year. I would like to paraphrase our initial conversation with our waitress:
Waitress: “Is this your first time here?”
My husband and I, in unison: “At this location.”
Waitress: “Do you live around here?”
Waitress, in a teasing tone: “We’ve been here for a year now, why are you just coming to see us now?”
Me: “We spend a lot of time in New Orleans.”
Waitress: “Do you work in the city?”
My husband: “In St. Bernard.”
Me: “Also our son’s been in Children’s for a while.”
Waitress: “Oh, my daughter was in Children’s last March. How long has he been there?”
Us, again in unison: “Since last March.”
Of course, like most people who don’t know, she was surprised to learn we’ve been living at Children’s for the last ten months. She commented that her daughter was in the hospital for a week and how it was a terrible experience just seeing her baby suffer and being away from home. She empathized with us and said she didn’t know how we’ve been surviving for almost a year.
We talked for several minutes, mostly she and I. I’ve discovered as I get older, I not only am becoming my mother in appearance, but I have adopted her ease in engaging in conversation with complete strangers. The waitress and I discovered we’d both had bad experiences at a local hospital through which our pediatricians work, and we both decided Children’s Hospital was the better choice when our children had to revisit the emergency room. Coincidentally, our kids are the same age. After our conversation, she took our order and left the table.
Our appetizer came, and then our meals. The waitress refilled our drinks and asked if everything was satisfactory. I noticed her friendliness with the table beside ours, and I smiled. I’ve worked in food service. I’ve waited tables. It’s not glamorous, it certainly won’t make you rich, and many customers are, quite frankly, assholes.
Later as we were finishing our meal, the waitress returned and asked again how things were going. We talked a little more about our kids’ health conditions, and she revealed her daughter has had several surgeries since she was just one year old. The waitress said something then to which I completely relate. She said she asks herself why is her child sick when so many others are healthy. She said she blames herself, that she feels like she’s done something wrong. I agreed with her that I felt the same way. I explained to her that I’d just been telling my husband two days ago how I felt, and that I felt responsible for RB’s illness. Tonight he said the same thing to both of us that he said the other night to me, “Some things just happen. You can’t prevent things like that.”
He’s right, of course. But I felt emancipated in that moment. It was freeing to hear another woman, another mother, admit her feelings to me that way. That her feelings were the same as mine, without my having mentioned it first.
Not only was our waitress kind, friendly, and empathetic to our situation with RB, she must have talked to her manager about us, because our appetizer was comped by the restaurant. “Because we deserve a break,” the waitress said.
It was a touching and moving experience. But tonight has certainly not been the first time a stranger showed us kindness during these difficult times. Besides all the people mentioned in my previous post Just Another Year in Review, and those who helped us whom I haven’t mentioned because there were so many I would have to sit down and make a detailed list, there have been other incidents like tonight where a complete stranger has reached out to us.
About two weeks ago, I decided it was time for a haircut. I went to a local economy salon (and got a surprisingly great haircut, by the way!). I described to the stylist what I wanted, that I wanted it as short as possible where I could let the curls take over and still look decent when I didn’t have time to prime and prep myself. She suggested using a flat iron. I explained to her that I have one, and then I explained why I needed a more feasible and convenient haircut. She asked a few questions about RB’s condition and his age. I answered her questions, and then she put down all of her tools and said a prayer aloud for God to bless RB and to heal him. Although I’m not overtly religious, I bowed my head out of respect for this stranger and her intention of doing something beneficial for my son and my family. It was moving. I believe in a higher power, and although I don’t follow my Catholic religion or rituals, I feel I am a spiritual person, and I respect anyone who believes in a God-or whatever word you’d like to insert here to describe Him, Her, It-that is supposed to promote peace and love and respect for our fellow humans. (Mind you, I don’t always have love and respect for my fellow humans, but I’m trying. I really am.)
Had she been Hindu or Buddhist or of any religion which teaches inner peace and love, I would have still bowed my head to her prayer. I don’t adhere to any one religion. I don’t believe it’s what God-insert your own name for your entity of choice here-would want. I don’t believe we are meant to fight each other over whose spiritual being is better.
“I watched the glee while your kings and queens fought for ten decades for the Gods they made.” Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones, (Jagger, Richards)
If you know the song, you will get the reference. But I digress…
The point of the post is to commemorate these strangers who have added hope to our lives and have made this most difficult of situations just a little easier to endure. When we got home, there was this card waiting for us: