It was the disorienting situation of seeing the familiar in the "wrong" place. As I was leaving my building, there she was on the sidewalk, slightly bent forward, clutching the grips of the walker that was so familiar-- four wheels, basket, broad seat and hand brakes. In the transition to bright sun, my eyes could not register the color of the tubular supports before she had passed in front of me.
Her head was encircled in a puff of white hair, strangely topped by a baseball cap. (My brain does not compute!) The shoes were the familiar beige oxfords common to the elderly trying their best to stay upright on feet that have logged a million miles or more.
As she moves ahead on the sidewalk, I study the familiar Aqua polyester pull-on pants -- I know the creases are stitched down the front, and would bet that the pockets hold little balls of tissues, waiting to sneak out in the laundry and redistribute their linty fibers on the entire load. The hems show signs of being shortened, stitched with little cooperation from old eyes.
I reorient myself, the combination of surprise, (shock), disorientation, and disbelief giving way to clarity as my eyes adjust to the bright daylight. Yet, there is a fascination I cannot shake. I move toward my destination, following a short distance behind her, and study the jacket that had first created my... Confusion.
It was shiny synthetic material in the favored shade of aqua/green that almost exactly matched the pants. The large scarf-like design that draped the shoulders and cascaded down the back picked up the beige of the shoes, but also featured gold and multiple other colors in its intricate design. I know it has a zipper up the front, and suspect that the side seam pockets are also harboring tissues in little balls. It would not surprise me if there were faint indications of remnants of food stubbornly clinging deep in the fibers in the front, difficult to wash out and impossible for her eyes to see. I cannot see the front of the jacket, but I know what it looks like.
But the baseball cap-- that is all wrong! And the gait is different. She is shorter too, and a little wider. She crosses the street, and I am stopped by the light. As she bumps the walker up the curb, something bounces out with a loud thump and rolls toward the street. Her hearing lacking acuity, or perhaps focused on the task at hand, she does not immediately realize it. From somewhere deep inside myself I hear myself yelling--you dropped something!
She stops, turns around, looks down, and while grasping the walker with one hand, turns back to retrieve the item--tentative, and slow. As she rises up, she turns slightly, and I can see the face--reflecting the passage of time and a slightly Asian heritage. She smiles briefly, nods a thanks, and turns, stashing the item, and begins again along her way.
She was probably in her early 80's. She may be someones mother-in-law...but not mine. My aqua outfit owner died in 2004 or 2005--sad now that I can not remember exactly which year. That I would see the outfit that was one of her favorites (but obviously not hers, although I have no idea what happened to it) on someone so close to her last situations of diminishing independence cross my path (literally) was disconcerting and weird. I hadn't thought of her in awhile, and there were the memories, confronting me on the sidewalk, far from anyplace she had ever lived or been...a invasion of my space that she did not share.
It was just after Mothers Day, so I probably should have thought of her....and 4 days late probably does not matter to the deceased. It was a bitter sweet moment in time, almost seeing what used to be, and remembering that I had almost forgotten what was.
