Casual Blog
A Flame in your Heart
I’d been away so hadn’t seen her for a few months. Even so on that Sunday I was shocked at the change.
Her face looked thin. Her eyes haunted. She appeared frail, tired, frightened. She sat down and I saw her navy dress and jacket hung limply. There had been and probably will be times in my life when a part of me longs to be in a good relationship – not to be alone, to have someone I can laugh with and feel at ease with, but if this was the result then I wanted none of it. Her light brown hair once healthy and full of life was now thin, sparse, lifeless. Defeated. Sapped of all energy just as she was. I longed to be able to put my arms round her, comfort her and tell her everything would be all right, but in a public place that was out of the question. She was quiet and withdrawn. I sensed she wanted to cry but the fragility of her facade would not let itself be revealed. so I listened while she talked of everyday inconsequentialities.
“I missed you” she said when she saw me, and I knew that was true. “How is Richard?” I asked. She twisted the rings on her frail fingers looking down before she replied, as if to give herself time to think of an answer. One that would allow her facade to remain intact; one which gave nothing of the anguish she was feeling away. However, for a brief moment the mask slipped and I could see the pain.
“A little difficult” was all she would say. “He seems to have gone off his food – and you know!” The silence deepened and I knew that what she wanted to say was that he was being more than difficult – in fact making her life a misery. Grinding her down.
I could see she was worn out, and remembered years ago meeting someone who was also caring for her husband, for whom nothing was ever right. He had been a teacher, an educated man, who expected the world and everyone he knew in it to be there for him, because he was the one suffering. All this time his wife slaved away, as a wife did, keeping a smile on her face genuinely interested in others even though she was working herself into the ground. It was inevitable that she died before him, while he, the creaking gate, outlived her. The friends they had made during their marriage drifted away little by little.
Although they visited in the first few months of Pam’s death, Trevor’s sarcastic tone as he raged about his illness and being forgotten, eventually drove them away, until finally he was alone – in a home where no friends visited. I wonder if he ever thought of how life had been and regretted he had not appreciated the sacrifices Pam had made and the loving daily care he had received – care which enabled him to stay at home. How much a few kind words would have lightened her heart and eased the burden on them both.
I vaguely remembered times when although ill his sense of humour was to the fore and he was able to laugh and make light of the future. Were his words “I couldn’t manage without her” truly felt? I know what you will say, that “none of us knows what lies ahead and that pain turns even the nicest of people into something we do not recognise”. BUT!
As I looked at my friend I thought how much just a few kind words of thanks and appreciation would mean to her: would raise her spirits and help her feel loved, her efforts of worth. Even a small token, a bunch of flowers, a meal out, or a smile can make a world of difference when you are at your lowest ebb and wondering how much more you can take.
Priests talk of “my brothers and sisters” and I wonder how many really see the need in their parishioners! Maybe familiarity breeds contempt, or an inability to see what is happening in another’s life. How can they help to give them that true feeling of belonging of being part of an extended loving family? Ministers shake hands every Sunday with the stalwart few who attend church, but I sense that for many it seems a ritual, over quickly with no real meaning. No real communication of one soul to another. Would you feel able to talk to your parish priest, if you had one, about how life at present was almost unbearable? My guess is that most of us wouldn’t. We soldier on, a smile on our face, until perhaps it is too late – our crying going unheard. After all the older generation weren’t brought up to talk of their feelings.
So, my friend is quietly breaking her heart wishing there was someone she could talk to, while she carries on doing the things she has always done on a daily or weekly basis for over forty years, trying to take it one day at a time, trying desperately not to think of the future. At the same time she is screaming inside for help.
But, I feel someone can hear her inner cries and there will be someone who will say “why don’t we pop out for a cup of tea – we don’t have to be long and it is such a lovely day. Tell you where I’d love to go but I fancy some company”, and that’s how it starts.
A little whisper in someone’s ear. Quiet but insistent. You see my friend has a guardian angel and that guardian angel is me. My task to find that someone who will act as a friend , to bring back the light and laughter into one unhappy life. There is no time for me to form a personal relationship or feel sorry for myself at what I may have missed out on when there is so much work to be done.
A guardian angel has to take the role seriously and I do, and you will never recognise me for I have many guises and bring comfort where I can. But if you will help – be that friend and listening ear then maybe between us we can achieve something rare and beautiful – and restore colour and meaning to a life that has lost its sense of beauty and harmony. So, when I whisper into your ear please say “yes”.