The Old Couple

I have just finished my lunch when I notice a very elderly couple. They have finished their meal, also, and are preparing to leave. The man goes to the restroom, leaving this very elderly lady, presumably his wife, standing near the kitchen entrance.

Now, when I say elderly, I don't mean she is just a "senior citizen". I mean she could be ninety easily. Anyway, she gingerly seats herself at one of the round tables near the kitchen. I notice how she moves - like she is afraid she will disturb something. She looks around the room as though she is a little "out of her element". She sits there, waiting for her spouse to return, maybe a little confused by the commotion and the rock music playing on the Muzak system. I notice how fragile she appears, how almost childlike. Her movements are cautious and tentative. Something about the way she looks makes me want to smile at her and say "Don't be afraid, you're very welcome in here, we're glad to see you here today."

The waitresses bustle past her, not glancing at her. Other customers are animated in conversation, wrapped up in their own worlds. The little old lady looks very out of place and looks as though she feels very of place. I feel sad for her. What experiences she must have had. Perhaps she was a child during the Great Depression. Perhaps she was a young woman working in a factory during World War Two. I imagine she had children, had watched her children grow up, get married, have children of their own, and become old themselves. Perhaps she has even watched her grandchildren grow to adulthood and have families of their own.

What crises she must have gone through in her life, what sadness, what heartbreak and loss. And what happy times as well: childhood friends, trips eagerly planned and awaited, marriages, births, family gatherings. Once she was a vigorous young woman. Now she is old, and her time is nearly at an end. Is this the reward for a life well lived? A lifetime of experience, a lifetime of knowledge gained, and yet, now the world is ready to discard her—ready to presume there is nothing in her that we could benefit from knowing. What marvelous secrets she might know, what marvelous stories she might share, if only … if only she had the strength to sit and tell us, if only we had the wisdom to listen.