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Two Gracious Ladies

    When I was growing up I had a Sunday School teacher--I was somewhere between 11 and 14, I can't remember exactly--whom I really admired. She was always well dressed, soft spoken, smiled a lot, and was very gracious. And she was a very nice person, a dedicated Bible teacher. She talked with a slow, soft drawl. She was beautiful. She had jet black hair and good skin tone. Her jewelry and make-up were conservative , but attractive. Her taste in clothing was superb. To my young mind, she was the essence of beauty, grace, class, and elegance.

When I was in high school, I worked in a grocery store my junior and senior years. She bought her groceries, and when she paid me cash, I could feel the sofness of her hands. I could tell she had put lotion on her hands before leaving home. It made her seem feminine and delicate. I wanted to be like her someday. Her husband was a retailer who owned several businesses, so I knew that accounted for the nice quality of her clothing and accessories. But it was her confidence, her elegance, her graciousness, her good-heartedness, and her classiness that I wanted to emulate. I already knew I would never be as pretty as she.

A year before my own mother died, she brought me up to date on local news. She told me that Mrs. X had passed away. I felt heart-broken. And my own relative, my dad's first cousin, another classy lady, died 3 days later. Oh, Margaret. What a nice lady my relative was. She wasn't as pretty as the first, but she always stayed slim and poised. She, too, always had a smile. She was gracious and tasteful and kind. She was a piano teacher, and she was very smart. She loved the fine arts. After I was grown I felt a special kinship to her, kind of like having like minds despite the infrequency of our meetings. She had a way with words and dealt with difficult circumstances in a manner that revealed her strength and inner beauty. The last time I had seen her, probably at another funeral, she had seemed so vital and so loving. Her death was a shock.

    I grieved for them both. The world had lost two of its finest women so close together. I doubt they even knew each other, except maybe at a distance. They were the same age. They left wonderful children and grandchildren behind. And the world, having been so blessed by their presence, still feels the void their passing left.