Seven Backpacks, a Heart Attack, and a Chocolate Cake

photo credit kitchen joy

She smiles often. She has four teeth…scattered along her gums. I’m not sure that I’m woman enough to smile if I only had four teeth.

She’s frail, appearing older than I know she is. Her life is harsh. Her poverty is not what makes it so.  

She was waiting for me by the gate today. Some days, she prefers to wave as she walks by. Some days, she pretends like she doesn’t see me at all.

Not today. Today she waited.  

She wastes no time with the pleasantries of small talk. She gets right to her point. “Did I miss the backpacks,” she quizzed.

“No, we didn’t give away school supplies this year," I replied apologetically. 

“Oh”. Her pause was long, emphasizing her disappointment. "I was in the hospital and thought I missed it. I had a heart attack. Three stents.”

She lifted her wrist. Multiple vinyl hospital bracelets still dangled there. “I keep these on in case I have to go back. In case I have another stroke.”  

My neighborhood friends aren’t much on small talk. They don’t ask about the family, they don’t comment on a new hair style and they don’t ponder if it might rain today. Their lives are more urgent than that.  

Lupe continued with her story. She was out collecting aluminum cans one morning. She felt funny. She had felt that way before, when she had her stroke.

She walked into the firehouse. Dutifully, they checked her over. Indeed, she was having a heart attack. As they were transporting her to a hospital,  she flat lined.  

She remembers it well. She was in her grandmother’s kitchen. Her grandmother had a beautiful chocolate cake on the table. Lupe was a child. Excitedly, she bit off a corner of the cake. Her grandmother scolded her.

"Ma’am….ma’am….wake up! Do you know where you are? What is your name?" She awoke in the Emergency Room with doctors and nurses surrounding her.

She brushed her fingers over her lips to wipe clean the chocolate frosting she was sure was still there. “I could taste my Abuela’s cake. It was delicious.”

Another pause. It seemed she longed for that moment again. Perhaps it was the ease of childhood or the comfort of her grandmother’s home.  

“Do you know if anyone else is giving away backpacks? I have seven grandkids and I don’t have anything for them to take to school.” Her reality startled mine once again.  

I’ve prayed for her as she wept when one of those grandchildren was born addicted to crack cocaine.

I’ve listened as she talked about her husband. A hardworking man who does as he pleases, including hitting her when the paychecks are small and the beer is large.

I’ve stood beside her at Christmas as she sang O Holy Night like an angel.

And I’ve smiled as she proudly displayed a huge bag of fresh okra that someone gave her from their garden.  

“Let me see what I can come up with and I will call you tomorrow,” I promised.   

I made my way to the check out. Backpacks – 2 pink, 3 blue, 2 mesh, spiral notebooks, crayons, glue sticks, pencils, pens, pocket folders, notebook paper.

“You must have a bunch of kids!” the cashier exclaimed. I smiled. “Something like that”.  

Back at home, the oven timer beeped. The smell of chocolate filled the house. The double fudge cake cooled on the counter while I loaded up the backpacks. I smoothed the thick frosting over the cake…twice. It had to be good.  

I pulled up to her home. I noticed a blue vinyl tarp on the roof. She would tell me later that the tarp was covering a large hole in the roof. It was fine most of the time…except when it rained.

I opened the back of my Suburban. She smiled when she saw all that was for her.  

“A cake…a chocolate cake!"

Delighted, she made multiple trips carrying the goods into the house. I offered to help, knowing that I would not be allowed inside. I know the boundaries…just like the days she doesn’t choose to wave.  

That’s okay. Today, I was allowed into her heart. And that’s just fine with me.

The To Do List

She thanked me profusely for taking her along.

Errands. I was running errands.

All day.

And she was thrilled to go!

Two different grocery stores, Target, home to serve lunch and then back out to a wholesale supply store.

Alone, my list would have been knocked out in 2 ½ - 3 hours tops.  Almost seven hours later I rolled into the driveway.

I have to be honest...I didn’t really want to take her with me.

Everything takes so much longer with an elderly person and on errand day, I like to conquer.

Nobody conquers at a snail’s pace and nobody gets through a “to do” list by admiring every single thing on the store’s shelf. But none the less, there we were. 

I wrestled with my thoughts that morning.

I knew inviting her along would mean an all day excursion but I was in get it done mode, and getting her out of the house was long over due.

I felt I owed her.

After all, when the kids were little, she went on errands with me. Back then I needed someone to push the extra cart so that I could contain three toddlers. At least one or two of said toddlers would fall asleep at some point, so she’d stay in the car with them while I ran in and out of stores quickly.

And she babysat.

Made us soup when we were sick.

Gave the kids Easter baskets for years and even let them have peanuts in the shell. Oh how they loved the surprise of peanuts cradled neatly inside! 

So, I drove over to pick her up. Even the short drive was irritating.

There are railroad tracks a couple blocks from her home and I was sure that the longest train in the history of ever would be crossing just as I approached. It wasn’t. No train in sight. 

She was dressed up. Black slacks, fine knit sweater, knee high nylons and patent leather flats. 

Me? Full on errand attire. Faded jeans, long sleeved T-shirt, comfy tennies and a cross body bag.

To her it was an occasion. To me it was a chore. And I felt guilty. 

Conversation was pleasant at first. She’s always been interested in what the kids are up to and like most Moms, I love to brag about my children. 

I loved it, that is, until she asked the same question for the third or fourth time. Likewise, she shared about her granddaughter’s birthday celebration at least that many times if not more. Sometimes she wasn’t sure who the girl was, but it sure was a nice party. Agonizing!  

I wish I could wrap up this post with a warm, fuzzy ending. 

But it was a flat out irritating day. However, she is not the one with whom I am irritated. It’s me. 

Though my intentions seemed sincere, they were self-serving. Spending time with her was just another thing I could check off of my list that day. Owning that realization is not a proud moment. 

So, where’s the lesson? How can I do better? How can we all do better? 

I guess recognizing my selfish impatience is a good first step. 

Knowing that I’m not too far away from the golden years is a decent second step. 

How would I feel if someone offered to spend time with me just to check me off their list? Ouch. Not very special, I’m sure. 

It was an internal struggle. She was quite pleased with the day. She was almost embarrassingly grateful. And I genuinely hope that’s how she felt. I would not want to leave her with the stain of my indifference. 

So, I’ll try again. 

Next time I will give her my undivided attention. Fully present! And honestly, she might not be the only one I need to focus on. I mean really focus…all in. 

No errands, no clothes folding, no Instagram scrolling, no dinner making while I’m supposed to be “listening”.

In the Bible we’re taught that love is patient. The very first definition of love in First Corinthians, is patience. I suppose it’s first because it’s so important. And difficult. 

I’ve got some work to do in this area. Do you?  

Meet Sonja - Why She Found Joy in Serving Teens

"When I was asked to work with high school youth, I thought, why do they want me?
I wasn’t sure high school kids would want to talk to me. But they were very open and made me feel comfortable.

I was so in awe of their faith. On the news, we always hear about young people who have made bad choices. Older people tend to get fearful of the youth because they only know about those they see on TV and in the paper.

I live in a community of older people. I try to get them to understand that teens are exciting people. They may dress differently, talk differently, but they’re fascinating!

I don’t share a lot about my world with teens because it’s really not relevant to them. I do if they ask, but otherwise I focus on their interests and their world. That’s how I stay connected to them. I try to keep up with the trends, listen to their music, try to understand where they’re coming from. I don’t expect them to do that for me. They’re young. That’s not their job. It’s my responsibility as the adult to learn about their culture.

I think another mistake we as older people make is to criticize younger people. We can’t do that. We have to accept them for who they are. I wouldn’t want to be treated that way. I still make mistakes. But if they’re really having problems, then we can try to guide them.

My college granddaughters are so vibrant and wonderful! When I talk to them, we talk about how God has a wonderful plan for their lives. And they have to be patient for that plan and obedient to that plan. I think that's where we all go wrong sometimes. In the waiting and the obeying.

I’ve had some terrible hurts in my own life and I’ve only found peace in those times through forgiveness. And that only comes through Jesus. I’m not able to do that. I’ve known friends that couldn’t forgive and it tainted everything in their life, like a cancer.

My parents always said that you’re not here on this earth to be served. You serve others. That’s where the joy comes from."

Her Chairs

Mom worked every day of her life. Advanced age and debilitating health weren’t about to change that. She woke early, drove a 45 minute commute and then began the chore of getting to her second floor office. Congestive heart failure limited her steps. If she walked too far wheezing and panting made her desperate to catch her breath. It was especially hard to watch as the years wore on. 

Chairs were strategically placed every ten to twelve feet. The first one just inside the front door, with others next to the elevator, inside the elevator, outside the elevator,  down the hall, and finally at her desk. She would walk in the front door and sit down. Then get up, walk to the elevator and sit while she waited for it. Once on the second floor, chairs dotted the hallway.  When she needed to rest...a chair was waiting. The routine was repeated at the end of the day.  She was tired then and her strength was fading. So the trip down the hallway took a lot longer.  And every chair was needed.

Strength, resolve, grit, determination…whatever you want to call it…she had it all and then some.  No complaining….no whining…no pity…no excuses. Five days a week, twice a day for years. And even on her last day – though she never made her commute - her clothes were laid out on the bed, ready to dress for work. None of us knew she was taking her last breath. She quickly and quietly left this world.  

No more chairs.

She’d never imagine her chairs would leave such an impression…not only for what they did for her…but for what they’re still teaching me. When things get to be too much, sit down. Catch your breath. Doesn’t matter how many times.  

As the years go by and I mature, I realize the wisdom, strength, and faith she lived every day.  Maybe we don’t realize it at the time for a reason. Maybe we’re just not ready. What I do know is that her legacy is rich…yet as simple as a trail of chairs.

Walk as far as you can…take a break…keep going.