Touched by a Stranger

I glanced at my watch and groaned. I was going to be late to my brother’s memorial service. It was 90 degrees in the shade and while setting up the stifling rectory for some eighty guests, we found one of the fans no longer worked. Now in the check-out line, a new fan under my arm, I checked my wallet and found I had two ten dollar bills; just enough to cover the cost.

It had been three months since Melanoma Cancer took my brother, and the emptiness he left in our family was overwhelming. In his life, Michael had touched so many people with his humanity and kindness, making it hard to comprehend his death.

As I waited in line, I thought of him, as I so often did and I felt myself withering under the mental strain of the day. Mike’s sudden illness and quick death had taken its toll on all of my family. My brother, sister and I were finding it unbearable to have lost a sibling, but the devastation was most visible in my parents. My tall father’s shoulders stooped with grief. My mother shuffled through the house looking lost. Her red-rimmed eyes spilled endless tears down onto a cherished framed photo she clutched of her first born son.

I checked my watch again. Thank God I didn’t have to give a speech. I couldn't get through it without sobbing. My family and I wanted Michael’s memorial filled with his friends, so that we all may share together how much he meant to us. I hoped somehow he would know what we were doing to honor him, how much he was missed.

Tears formed in my eyes as I realized Mike had been the one I had always turned to in times of strife. He had helped me find the humor in life and had always held my hand to steady me. Now he was gone, just when I needed him most.

The elderly woman ahead of me inched forward, her entire body quivering from Parkinson’s disease. One by one she lifted small pots of colorful flowers onto the counter. Seconds ticked away. The young clerk rang up the items and mumbled the total through a wad of purple bubble gum. The silver-haired woman picked change from her purse, her wrinkled fingers shaking over the warn clasp.

“How much, dear?”

The clerk cracked her gum. She shifted the wad to the side of her cheek. “$18.43," she shouted.

The woman’s pale lips tugged into a smile, her head and hands shuddering with involuntary tugs as she pulled out several bills. “This heat made all my flowers wilt,” she laughed. I made myself smile at her. The clerk continued to chomp, eyeing the bills with annoyance. I tried not to be impatient and looked down at the flowers. They were bright purple hedgerows, yellow, pink, with orange snap dragons.

The air around them made me think of summer nights when the family would sit out side after a barbeque. Strains of laughter echoed in my head. A faded request to play someone next match of ping pong, the splash of the pool, the sounds of classic rock music that followed Mike everywhere. Upon a second glance, I realized they were the type Mike used to plant in my mother’s flowerbeds.

“$18.43,” the clerk reiterated. She stabbed the wrinkled bills with a French-tipped fingernail. “You only gave me seventeen dollars.”

The woman’s sunken gray eyes dropped to her empty coin purse; the shakes worsened.

I longed to be rung up and on my way. I shifted the fan to my other side.

“Oh my,” the elderly lady gave a slight laugh. “I’ll have to put one of the lovely things back.” Something about her reminded me of my grandmother. She smelled of sweet powder and I breathed her in. Perhaps it was the kind grey eyes or her cheerfulness that made me remember my sweet grandmother who too, had just passed. My heart suddenly hurt for this stranger and for the first time in months I forgot my own pain.

I watched her stroke a yellow snap dragon with a shaking finger. “I guess I’ll leave this one,” she said.

The elderly woman inched down the counter as I set the fan beside her. I watched her put her coin purse back into her hand bag and give one last longing look to the pretty flower she left behind. As I pulled money from my wallet, two wrinkled one dollar bills fell out from behind my ten. I stared at them, certain they had not been there before. “I want to buy that yellow snapdragon,” I blirted, then looked at the woman and offered a smile. “Here, Mam." I handed her the small pot. I made up the difference.”

She took the flower and beemed at me. “Thank you, dear heart. That was very sweet of you.”

The sweltering heat from the pavement surged up through the sole of my pumps, warming the balls of my feet as I hurried to my car. As I put the key in the lock, the lady appeared beside my car, her forehead already perspiring through her sweet smelling powdered skin. “What is your name, dear heart?” she asked.

My nerves were rattled. I was worried the service would start without me. “Julie,” I answered.

“Julie,” she smiled, and handed me the bright yellow snapdragon through my car window. “I want you to have this to plant in your garden.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t,” I argued. “I bought it for you.”

“Nonsense,” she smiled, patting my hand. “Plant it and always remember that Michael thanks you.”

My heart luched and a lump formed in my throat. “Michael….?”

She gave a sheepish look. “Strange name for a woman, I know. I always liked it though. I feel special somehow.” I took the flowering plant from her, and this time it was my hands that shook as I watched her walk away. Something magical had taken place and my skin prickled with electricity. A strange sense of awareness came over me, urging me to forward. I didn't understand why, but I got out, grabbed my new purchase and ran over to her car.

“Michael,” I called. “This is for you,” I said, as I handed her the fan. “It’s a special present from me and my brother.”

She gasped; her gray eyes shining with tears. “Oh, how kind of you!” She looked puzzled as she again she laid her hand on my arm and looked up into my eyes. “My air conditioning went out last night and I worried how I would fix it, but how could you have known? It’s like you’re an angel of mercy. Thank you so much.”

I went back to the memorial service clutching the bright yellow snapdragon as a reassuring sensation spilled over my body in ghostly wave. I studied the solemn faces of long time friends, family, but kept the experience to myself.

For I knew the woman at the store had been put in my path to remind me to be kind to others. The flower was a message from my brother, letting us know that all though we could no longer see him, he was still with us.

He would still be there during those those hot summer barbeque's, as well as the Thanksgiving dinners, though his chair would be empty. I knew now he was beside my mother as she waded through the lost of her son.

We grieved only for ourselves that day. There was no need to grieve for Mike. The flower I now held up close to my heart was my brother’s way of letting us know he was out of pain and finally at peace.