In my job, I work with the public. That isn't always glamorous, and in some cases, it can be downright tricky; however, for each idiot I meet, I work with dozens and dozens of wonderful people. Some customers I have worked with for over 25 years. We've laughed at weddings, stared in awe at vacation pictures, and cried together at funerals. The road is bumpy, and we have ridden them out often together for the most part.
One of my all-time favorite customers (we'll call her Beth) stopped one day as she left my office, turned, and said, "I just want you to know, I pray more for you than I do my own kids;" I felt the same.
Beth was a fountain of wisdom, and I was lucky to meet her when I started my career; she had been a single parent, with her husband passing away before retirement. They had been frugal even up to that point, enabling Beth to retire on schedule and pass the family business on to one of the children.
Beth continued to invest wisely over the years, and she once confided in me after selling a piece of land at a handsome profit that a neighbor somehow privy to the details had jealously said, "must be nice to have your ship come in." To which Beth responded, "Oh? Tell me, friend, how many little boats have you sent out? I've owned this land for 50 years."
I loved this woman. Sharp as a tack, she continued to attend one university class every semester on a broad array of topics (classes are free after a certain age). We'd spend hours discussing philosophy, physics, and the world's religions. Beth truly lived by those lists that seem relevant today, i.e., "Life is too short to waste time hating anyone, cry with someone, burn the good candles, use the nice sheet, etc." Beth used to ask me regularly if I was taking care of myself, eating well, and staying active. When I'd respond positively, she'd say, "good, I need you to outlive me."
At our last in-person visit, Beth handed me the following poem by Dr. M. Coleman Harris [1]:
Life is like a journey taken on a train,
With a pair of travelers at each window pane,
I may sit beside you all the journey through,
or I may sit elsewhere never knowing you.
But if fate should mark me to sit at your side,
let's be pleasant travelers - it's so short a ride"
With tears in her eyes, she whispered, "I'm glad I sat by you."
Beth and I stayed in touch for several more years by phone, meeting with children, and finally, on her 95th birthday, I called to let her know that although I had promised to stay with her for the rest of her life, I had started to plan my retirement. Of course, I reassured her I wasn't going to retire anytime soon, but I feared it would be a race to the end; even at 95, she was still very spry.
I dreaded the day that finally came and the call to tell me their beloved mother had passed away. I cried. I know she had spent years teaching her children and grandchildren everything she had learned over a long life. I hoped they listened because I, for one, will never forget.
Written October 11, 2022
References: