Teardrops

The first thing that assaulted my senses as I walked through the door was the unmistakable scent of cat urine.  The house was in almost total disarray with stacks of papers, photo albums and knick-knacks stacked everywhere.  She invited me in and asked me to sit, pointing to a chair on the other side of a table.  The table was a round picnic table that had been set on the one end of the living room.  Which was crowded with broken furniture and pictures on every available wall and end table space.  The smell in the house was almost unbearable. 

I sat down looking patiently at her across this table, ducking my head from side to side to see around the various piles.  The old woman looked at me expectantly seeming to wait for me speak something profound.  As is the case most of the time when I meet someone new I wondered what was I going say?  How was I going to speak to her?  The conversation started slowly,

“So how long have you lived in this house?” I asked, hoping to glean some information about her so that I could make conversation.

“Only fourteen years, I’m sorry I don’t get out much.  My health has been bad the last several years, I don’t get out to church.  But my son comes to visit me.  He lives in the house right back there.” she gently points behind her back.  “My neighbors are good to they try to keep things together for me.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that.” I respond “Its hard to find community now a day’s that takes the time to care for others.”

“Well I have my three boy’s.  My daughter died several years ago,” she said quietly.

“Oh, how did that happen?”

“She died of colon cancer.  She was going to school, living in one of those apartment's.  You know at the top of a house.  Everything’s in one room.”

“You mean a loft?”
”Yeah, I think so.  Well there was a crack in her ceiling and insulation was falling down.  I don’t think it was asbestos's, or something else, I don’t know what it was but we think that gave her the cancer.”  Tears welled up in her eyes and the pain was clear in her voice.  “I lost my husband ten years ago to diabetes to.”

I wish I would have said something like “I’m sorry to hear that, but we know God still cares for you.” or “At least you have family still around you and they love and support you.”  But the reality is I didn’t have anything to say.  What do you say to someone with the pain that evident in her voice and written in the creases of her face?  We sat there in silence for a few moments as I collected my wits and re-oriented my feelings knowing that her pain could easily overwhelm me.  “You know if you would like to get to church I can come and pick you up.  Any time that you need that I can do it.” 

“Thank you Pastor, and tears well up in her eye’s.  I may take you up on that some time.” 

“I’m sorry but I need to go, can we pray together?”  I get up out of my seat, walk around and kneel at her side.  I take a weathered, wrinkled old hand in mine.  As I started to pray I saw teardrops rolling slowly down her creased and worn cheeks.  As I said the last amen and excused myself from the house, grateful to be away from the smell and clutter I wondered how people could live so separated from one another.  That this woman's pain and loneliness was obvious and yet I was the only one here, the only one to sit and watch the tears fall.