The only way to describe Mary....
Is the stereotypical (although no less magical) image of a frail and ageing lady. Think of a Roald Dahl masterpiece, depicting a frail and tiny little thing, shoulders slightly hunched, and so slight that when sat in an arm chair - she looked like a character from the set of Tom Thumb. Her legs dangling slightly from the chair, her face heavily creased with life, teeth slightly blackened and far fewer than there had been in her hay day. Her hair, wispy and barely there - but never the less - combed to perfection.
But the day that I met Mary, she wasn't sitting in the comfort of an Arm Chair.
Nor did she have the privileged life of a character from a story book. Stuck in London traffic with my boyfriend, we were crawling along, on a pretty bright and airy day. His attention had beencaught by something, and I could see his glance return repeatedly, finally saying that he didn't think the lady by the road was ok. I followed his gaze.... and there she was. That frail little character, with one huge shopping bag on her arm, leaning forward to step from the roadside curb, then her confidence failing her - leaning back to avoid taking that step. Again and again she tried and failed.
Whipping the car out of the traffic, we set out to see if she was ok.
Swiftly deciding that a 6"2 male stranger had potential to intimidate the 5" nothing little lady, I stepped out of the car and over to see that she was alright. She had tears in her eyes when she realised that she wasn't alone, and graciously accepted my help. Feeling how unsteady and seeing how weak she was - I gently told her that she could trust me, and that I would drive her home. I'm glad that she did.
Only being able to describe it as scooping her into the car, strapping her in, (my boyfriend got out and went on his way to the shops) thats where our new friendship began.
We both were keen to find out about each other!
Mary was a real chatterbox, and my heart ached a little at her enthusiasm to take that opportunity to talk - despite how fatigued she was. We swapped stories of where we were from, how old, and within the space of 5 minutes she had told me that she was 89, and currently having chemotherapy. My jaw nearly dropped, and heart ached a little more at the way she swept her own challenges aside, and homed in on me! Saying that I was so sorry to hear that, she dismissed it and began asking if my health was good, expressing her greatest wishes hoping that it was! Faced with the aftermath of her most recent chemo, we realised that Mary had walked for nearly 2 miles with a bag that may as well have been a lead weight, was so exhausted she was terrified to step from the curb (did I say... she's 89 ?!). Yet she sat next to me chattering away in a mild cockney accent, and saying that she was alright, that I was what mattered.
Back to earth with a bang!
That was me. Moments before, I'd had a (prolonged) moment of self indulgence. I was tired, had a cold, in the aftermath of the neuro flare up, and decided that I was fed up and going to feel that way. And with a bolt of magic - Mary appeared. Kind, struggling, and oozing empathy! Now Im a fan of a bit of self pity, its healthy to acknowledge it, wallow for a while, and I'm 100% not saying that you should never let yourself feel that way! What I am saying, and aiming to do, is to allow it, acknowledge it, but only if I consciously open my eyes at the same time.Cup half empty or full... on steroids.
Allowing and acknowledging it, allows me start to process the 'it', the feeling, the worry. Literally letting me digest it, take the good that I can and get rid of the negativity! By opening my eyes, I may not always come across a self-less little character like Mary to bump me into the reality of seeing the positive things in my life, but I do promise that it lets me see some brightness, consider what I love doing, and absorb the lesson or positive of whatever challenge has had me feeling blue - shake it up with some reality, and results in a stronger (and happier) me. The more I practise, the more I see.When I was still in London, I used to visit Mary for a cup of tea. She never ceased to amaze me, and made me laugh with her lectures to Alan about us not getting any younger. There were tears when we moved!
