A Day of Pain

Monday was one of those "bad" days. I began the day with the intention of going to our local nursing home to visit an elderly saint (and saintly elder) who has joined the ranks of the hospice care. Before heading out, I stopped by the office and found Lori, our church secretary and office manager, nearly in tears as she composed a note for me. She told me that her husband -- our youth leader and a man I greatly admire -- was in the hospital with chest pains. A few minutes after she left, and while I rearranged my schedule, I found out about another crisis: another elderly saint was back in the hospital and not expected to live. I decided it was time to get moving.

I have a home communion kit and decided to share it with these friends in need, and so I went to the grocery store to pick up some Welch's (alas, we're tea-totallers). I went to the cash register to pay, and found myself behind a woman engrossed in conversation with the cashier. Obviously I couldn't help but overhear (a phrase used by every eavesdropper).

Cashier: "What brings you back to town?"
Shopper: "Divorce."
(Pause) C: "So ... how many years?"
S: "24"
C: "I was married 30, and I've been divorced for 15."
S (with a look of hope): "Do you get over it?"
C: "Well, I'm here. "
S (deflated): "Do you have anyone?"
C: "My son's around and helps me out. How 'bout you?"
S: "I have two kids, and I have my OWN place."
C: "We should talk sometime. Let's exchange numbers."

They didn't notice me, except for the 2 or 3 words from the cashier needed to instruct me on the use of the credit card reader. My heart was breaking for them, though, and I felt so completely useless. I wanted to say something that would help, but all I could do was whisper, "God bless you both" as I grabbed the Welch's and left.

The hospital and nursing home weren't any easier.