"I Get Up and Keep Going"

I spent my lunch hour yesterday afternoon running errands. After leaving a local pharmacy where I bought stuff for Simba the cat, I walked down the sidewalk to return to the car and back to work. Approaching from the opposite direction were two women who appeared to be an elderly mother with her middle-aged daughter. The mother limped along, left hand locked in her daughter’s right arm. I glanced past them without looking at them, the way you do when among strangers, when I noticed they had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. The older woman was leaning heavily against the younger, who staggered but kept her ground, gripping the older woman’s hand while speaking quietly to her. The older woman struggled to regain her balance, swaying back and forth and waving her free arm as if fighting an unseen force. She looked like she was about to faint and pushed into the younger woman, who did not clutch her mother in terror (like I would have done) but stood tall and straight and then slowly, gently, let the flailing body of the older woman slide down her right leg to slump onto the concrete.

I quickened my pace toward them, pulling out my cell phone to call 911 but there was something odd about the relaxed demeanor of both women that made me hesitate. They were both watching me as I approached. The older woman was conscious.

They were smiling at me.

I walked up, cell phone in hand and asked: “Can I help?”

“Oh no,” the older woman laughed. This happens to me all the time. Sometimes I don’t feel well and I have to sit down until I feel okay again.” She beamed up at her daughter and then me. “When I feel better, I get up and keep going.”

A moment later, she glanced up at her daughter, signaling she was ready to rise. Both women giggled again, not in embarrassment but in camaraderie. The younger one thanked me for my offer to help, then leaned over and hauled her mother up by the seat of her pants, the way you would pull a child out of the mud. The mother lurched to her feet and the two women locked arms again, waved goodbye and continued on their way.

The scene has played itself out over and over in my mind. Why wasn’t the older woman in a wheelchair? Why were they walking in a public place where they could easily be knocked over and where the mother could hit her head? Maybe she should be wearing a helmet. On the other hand, it was obvious they knew what they were doing. The daughter knew how to ground herself against the flailing weight of her mother to guide her descent. But what astonished me the most was their happiness to be outside and walking on an April afternoon, despite the older woman’s malady, so they could enjoy the simple act of walking down the sidewalk and shopping, like mothers and daughters do.