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Saturday 21 November 2009

Need....

A terrible day, weather wise. Things are moving on and along with others we are considering Christmas and starting to hit our funds buying presents. It is hard to not walk around the shops without seeing gifts that the recently deceased Mo would've loved. The trick was that both Craig and I spoke immediately about it to each other; seeing something and almost enjoying the fact that she would have loved the silliness of this seasons tat or that joke present for a friends over-active dog. Remembering the joy she took in the little things seems to help as well as hurt.

Dorchester is our county town and is re-inventing itself with building work and changes in the shops; I like it. It feels relaxed and charming. There is space for everyone and with the abundance of trees, even when it is overcast and drizzling it has a calming effect. Where we live, Weymouth, is a very different matter...but that's a rant I shall enjoy in a later post.

We have noticed that since Mo's death we cannot fail to notice little old ladies; not exactly the Politically Correct term. But nevertheless they are diminuitve, not youthful and female. The ones that tug at our heart-strings are those that are infirm or in need of some care; but then any of them seem to pull at our emotions. Today, along a side street was a small, hunched, bespectacled lady moving towards a waiting taxi; the driver had brought the vehicle as close to the pedestrianised road as he could get it and he stood waiting, door open. She made her way towards him, up a steep incline, lifting and pushing her zimmer frame - wheels at the front - in painfully slow steps. I didn't turn to look into Craig's eyes as we passed. I didn't need to. The taxi driver looked down the street and as we got to him he smiled at us with emotion in every crease of his face and his lips pressed together. We looked back; she had barely taken two steps, during the time it took us to walk fifty yards.

We were three men watching this poor woman, head hung over, glasses perched on the end of her nose, stepping as best she could towards us. We were powerless. I wanted to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder and, taking up the zimmer in the other hand, carrying her to the taxi and out of the drizzle. The taxi driver's dilemma was clear. If he left his vehicle he couldn't make her walk any quicker and any encouragement could be seen as patronising; offering to take her handbag and lighten her passage could cause her distress. So with us passing by and him rooted to the spot we watched her struggle. It was awful and inspiring.

After shopping, posting a letter - the balance of Mo's funeral expenses and the collection from the service, plus a little more, for the Salvation Army, all to the funeral home - we came back onto the same street going in the opposite direction. The woman was ten feet closer, maybe more, with more than that to go; her steps were a little stronger now and her head was held a little higher but we could see that she strained every sinew. The driver stood in the same position, looking at her walk. You felt that he was not just waiting for her, to take her home, but was watching over her and it reminded me of something.

Whenever Mo came for dinner a certain amount of Rose` wine was drunk rendering me unable to take her home - two miles away. So we got into the habit of sending her home in a taxi paid for by us. My only proviso was that the driver did not drive away from her house until she was inside the doorway; my comment to Craig was always to tell them to "see her to the door...to the door!"

They always did and I always checked; she became known for it, with all the taxi drivers knowing that her two boys would be bloody annoyed if they left her fumbling with her keys on the doorstep and they never did.

Seeing that taxi driver, waiting, keeping an eye on this woman made me think about the little kindnesses. The uncomplaining driver would get no more for his trouble, might be late for his next fare but his patience without causing the poor woman any anxiety was a true kindness. Something that was given to Mo and something we need to thank the taxi firm for

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