Whoever described life as "a bowl of cherries" must have been truly clueless. At times, our stay on this planet is a wondrous and joyful thing, but pain, suffering and anguish are part of the formula as well.
I got in line to check out at the supermarket the other day and found myself behind a woman who knew the cashier. They struck me as acquaintances rather than friends, and they obviously had not seen each other in quite a while. So they did a quick catching up while the cashier rang up the other woman's handful of purchases.
I remember their conversation quite well, because it was short and, I thought, dramatic. Yet both women spoke quietly and matter-of-factly, even while making heartbreaking revelations. Perhaps they would have spoken longer, and more animatedly, if I had not been waiting in line. Or maybe not. After all, we're still blessed with some people who have no use for melodrama, and no inclination toward self-pity.
I remember their conversation quite well, because it was short and, I thought, dramatic. Yet both women spoke quietly and matter-of-factly, even while making heartbreaking revelations. Perhaps they would have spoken longer, and more animatedly, if I had not been waiting in line. Or maybe not. After all, we're still blessed with some people who have no use for melodrama, and no inclination toward self-pity.
Cashier: "How are you doing?"
Customer: "Okay."
Cashier: "How's your husband?"
Customer: "He died."
Cashier: "Oh, I'm sorry! What happened?"
Customer: "Cancer. (Long pause.) How's your mother?"
Cashier: "Oh, she has Alzheimer's now. She's living with someone who takes good care of her, though."
Customer: "Oh my. I'm sorry." (Pays for purchases.)
Cashier: "Yeah. Well, have a good day." (Gives customer her change.)
Customer: "You too. Bye now."
There weren't a lot of cherries in that bowl. Just a serving of grit, backbone and resilience.
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