Two women

When my children were 6 and 8 years old, I was a single mom. I lived far from my family and was barely making enough money for us to live on.

In March of 1986 my father was diagnosed with cancer of the liver and given six months to live. Sure enough, in August I got a call from my sister that my daddy was in the hospital and was not expected to live long.

I was at work when I received this call. I dashed home and managed to find a friend who would stay with my children while I flew home to see my father one last time, hopefully while he was still alive. I threw some things into a suitcase, including clothes suitable for a funeral, called the airport and managed to get a ticket for that same day—a ticket I could ill afford to buy—and made a mad dash for the airport to catch my last minute flight.

I went to the check in line to get my ticket. My mind was numb with the grief of the trip I was taking. I could barely think logically but I realized I might miss my flight if I stood too long in a line, so I asked the lady in front of me if I could please go ahead of her, that I was afraid I might miss my flight?

She looked at me levelly and said, “Well now. You should have gotten here earlier, shouldn’t you?”

I couldn’t even respond. I didn’t say a word. An airline agent came to my rescue and took me forward to get my ticket, but I never said one word to that woman.

Later, on my flight, tears started to come as the reality of my trip weighed down on me, and I couldn’t believe I was silent in the face of that woman’s words. I wanted to have said, “I wish it was YOUR father who was dying.” But I didn’t, I didn’t say anything and I can still feel the sting of her thoughtless words.

I have never forgotten that woman and her effect on me.

*****

Shortly after we married, Tommy got us a dog, a mutt we named Ike. I had never had a dog before, but Tommy had always had dogs. It was he who first showed me that a dog could actually smile.

I first met Tommy at a friend’s house where we were rehearsing to play a little concert for the Arts Fund Drive at Duke Power Company, where we both worked. I watched from a distance as he went over to the household dog. The dog was old, slow moving and to me, not very appealing. I watched as Tommy got down on one knee and slowly starting petting that dog, speaking softly to him right in his face. The old dog slowly wagged his tail and I was touched that someone could so obviously care about some old dog. It showed me clearly what kind of man Tommy was.

Anyway we got a dog ourselves. We lived in town, in Charlotte. I wasn’t used to the chore of taking a dog out on a leash to do its business and we had a large back yard, so sometimes I would let the dog out without a leash, and he would come back in so I thought this was ok. Tommy would warn me, though, that I was taking a risk, that dogs didn’t know about roads, and our house was on a busy road. But I was just sure I knew better— he would be ok in our big back yard, and so I continued with my practice.

One rainy night I did not want to accompany Ike the dog outside and I let him out into the backyard. I went back in a little while and called him. He did not come. I kept going out and calling and calling and he did not return and I finally had to go to bed without having let the dog back inside. I was scared, I knew something bad had happened, and I knew it was my fault.

Early the next morning during rush hour I got into my car to go search for Ike. Less than two blocks from my house I found him on the side of the road, obviously hit by a car, dead. I pulled off the road and with great shame knelt beside him, weeping at what I knew was my doing.

Traffic was busy rushing by but one car stopped, and a woman got out. She expressed her sympathy, and she helped me carry my dead dog to the trunk of my car. I never saw her again, but I was so touched by her kindness.

I have never forgotten that woman and her effect on me.