The Kindness of People

Melinda, my longtime pal and production manager at TCU Press, had the great idea that we should go to Joe T.’s for lunch today. Perfect weather to sit on the beautiful patio and enjoy just the slightest of breezes. We chattered, caught up with each other’s families and professional lives, laughed a lot, had a bit of wine for me and a margarita for her, and it was all delightful. There were obvious groups of tourists there—big clusters of people who oohed and aahed when they saw the gardens, and I thought how lucky we are to have that available all the time (okay, all the time if you will stand in line).

But Joe T.’s is not an easy access place for me. We parked around the corner from the patio entrance, so I had to walk a bit. Then I opted for stairs rather than the long, sloping ramp. Melinda took the walker up the stairs and prepared to come back to help me, when a man came up, asked, “Need help?” and held out his arm. He helped me to the top and saw me firmly reunited with my walker. I sat on a low bench, while Melinda went back to the ramp and stood in line for our table. (I realized later my helper was with one of the tourist groups.)

The paths at Joe T.’s, so scenic, are not great for a walker—flagstone and pavers, lots of cracks to catch the wheels. When we got on a smooth patch and I said, “Now I can go like the wind,” the young man showing us to our table grinned big-time.     

All that difficult walking makes me breathless, and when we left, I asked Melinda if I could sit on the low bench while she went to bring the car around. She did, and this time when we started down the stairs, she said she could carry the walker with one hand and help me with the other. A man started up the stairs and asked, “You need help?” but she assured him we were all right. I wanted to tell Melinda never turn down a willing arm, but I didn’t. The woman behind him said, “Let me take that walker,” and she took it down the stairs and opened it up for me.

It’s what I’ve noticed all along—most people go out of their way to be helpful and kind when they see the walker. Would I rather be walking on my own two feet? You bet! But it is what it is, and there are some saving graces. I didn’t realize it, but my hip was deteriorating for years before I had surgery. Between that and the neuropathy, my balance—and sense of security as I walked—sunk to nothing. I needed railings, walls, something to give me security. Walk across an empty parking lot alone? Not me!

The walker has given me back my sense of security. I go places now with confidence that I wouldn’t have gone before. It does mean that walking takes more effort—got to push, lift, and drag that walker, lightweight as it is—and I run out of breath and tire easily because o my atrial fibrillation. But still I am grateful—I am much more mobile than I was three years ago, I am once again out in the world, and I am not in pain.

Occasionally I see people who are so unsteady they need a walker or even those who fall frequently, but it’s a point of pride not to use assistance when they walk. I want to say, “Get over it!”

And to repeat, people are so kind and helpful. There’s only one longtime friend that I’ve lost over the walker—and I’m not sure that’s the reason, but I think it is because his desire to go to lunch with me cooled (after years of happy lunches) after the first time we went with me on a walker. I’m sorry for the loss but I am much too busy to worry about it, too busy appreciating the wonderful support I get from family, friends, and strangers.

God is good, and so is the world. And, hey, Melinda, let’s do it again soon.