I had taken my father-in-law to his doctor’s appointment in Roanoke that day. Would have been so easy to see the event as just another day, and as many times as I’ve sat in the waiting area of a physician’s office, this day should have been no different.
But it was.
I observed couples filing in. And singles. And some entire families. One man walked stooped and with what looked like a broomstick fashioned into walking stick. What a mission he was on. Another lady who appeared to be maybe 5 feet tall (which included her perfectly permed hair) and every bit of 90 years old plopped into the chair at the check-in desk and proclaimed, “I hope the exam room isn’t too far away. I’ve already walked 2 miles!”
The volunteer quickly appeared with a wheelchair and offered her a ride to Waiting Area B.
“I don’t need that! What do I look like? An old person?” She snapped.
I chuckled to myself at her quick wit.
And then there they were. A woman of about 60 guided a tall, slender man who by appearance could have been her age or 20 years her senior—I wasn’t sure. He shuffled his feet as he walked, uncertain of his steps, and his gaze was somewhere….somewhere else. The lady companion spoke in kind and assuring words. “We’ll go over here.” “Come this way.” “Let’s take this over here.”
He followed.
As they approached, I noticed his pants were “high-waters” as we said when we were kids—then I noticed why.
The white ankle-band stood out like a neon sign outside of an all-night diner. The GPS tracking system was attached to his body, a sort of security in case he was lost. I choked back tears as I watched the two of them—her guiding, him following—and I wondered, “Is she his wife? His caregiver? His daughter? Who was the person who wants to make sure that while they’re losing their loved one, they won’t lose their loved one?”
My heart felt heavy and the lump in my throat grew. God bless this woman. God bless this man. We all are going about daily life, eating breakfast, jumping in the car, pulling tickets before we enter parking garages so those gates will lift and let us in, signing in, signing out, eating lunch, laughing about memories of birthdays past and planning for Christmases coming.
And here are these precious two—one guiding, one following. One remembering, one forgetting. Both loved.
I saw my father-in-law come through the doors and walk to the check-out window. I walked toward him as I heard him making his next appointment. He turned and smiled, and kind of half-jokingly said, “Well, if you like, you can bring me to the next appointment, too.”
I wouldn’t have it any other way…..