It started out unwittingly. In fact it was a long time before I realized the gift that was being lavished upon me. The Acme was convenient for a quick dinner ingredient or for lunchmeat to be used the following day. I was there more than I would like to admit, and in fact so frequently that I had my heart stolen by James, a man with special needs who was employed to collect carts.
When James and I first met he would see my car enter the lot, come up to open my door and proceed to follow me throughout the store. If my children were with me, he would engage them as well, offering a smile or a point of optimism. After the initial pleasantries that he dutifully exchanged with me, the conversation almost always went in the same direction. James would hang his head and tell me how his mother had just died. I would offer condolences and listen as I took items from the shelf, ordered at the deli counter and paid my bill. The death of his mother was James' daily reality. We would relive the event, talk about how wonderful she was and how much he missed her. My children would sometimes ask, "Why does he always tell you the same thing?" My answer would include how it was real to him and new to him every day and he just needed to share his grief.
Now for the hard part for me to admit: I wish I could say that I always welcomed the time with James but the truth is there were many times when I would arrive at the Acme and attempt to avoid him. Perhaps I was having a bad day and just wanted to run in and out of the store without talking to anyone. Or maybe I was in a rush between school and evening activities, still needing to prepare dinner and get the kids ready for what lie ahead in our evening. Whatever the reason, I knew that James following me would slow me down, take my energy and invade my brain that needed to remember the five things I neglected to put onto a written list.
After one exceptionally trying day I arrived at the Acme determined to run in and out. My heart was exceedingly heavy that day, awash in worry about the new direction my life was taking as my kids and I navigated our new normal of divorced life. That day I saw James and attempted to avoid...but he wasn't having it. I remember thinking I was going to lose my mind if I had to give just one more piece of my heart away. You see, at this point, I did not yet realize it was James who was giving to me, not the other way around. And so, he followed me through the store. But surprisingly as we talked, instead of feeling more frustrated, my agitation actually dissipated, my mind eased and my tension left. I found myself laughing with James and talking about his mother, a woman I had never met. We "reminisced" fondly and I found myself contemplating a longing to know the woman who raised this angel. Usually it was a scripted give and take...I knew my lines and when to deliver them. But this day I stopped and I listened to him. I took in his pain and lived it with him and in doing so I was lifted out of my own world for the moments we shared in the Acme aisles.
I'm not going to lie and say that every time following this incident I looked forward to the extra attention offered to me by a trip to the Acme. But I will share what I gained being in the presence of my friend, James.
- James was kindness personified. He knew no other way to be. He also knew what would help him feel better and he trustingly sought it in others. He was not afraid of rejection or judgment. And perhaps the most beautiful part; he had no idea what he was giving away in the interim.
- James taught me kindness as he shed kindness on me every time I encountered him. In the beginning of our relationship I thought I was being kind by listening to him. That could not be further from the entirety of the situation. It is a simple component of the incredible amount of kindness we shared together.
- James hurt. James grieved. James trusted. I know there are events in my life that I repeat to those willing to listen hoping to find solace in the sharing of the pain. Every day James' mother's death was new news that he needed to share with a compassionate heart. I am sure that I was not the only person with whom James shared his time and his story. But how blessed was I to be one of the lucky ones with whom he would share his ancient new pain? Don't we all have parts of our life that are like that? We all have hurts or insecurities that come knocking even though we thought we put them away. Unlike James however, we don't generally trust that others will be willing to help us unpack it, share the hurt and grow in the process. We should.
- In the end the most important thing I realize is that I want to be "James" for other people. I want to be the person that brightens the day just by being me. James knew only kindness. I want to be that kindness for others.
Since our Acme closed down I have temporarily lost touch with James. I have my feelers out trying to find where he is these days. Perhaps our chapter is over. I might never encounter James again and that will be OK. But I would love to find him and pull into the lot where he is gracing the patrons with his very being. Just seeing his smile would make my day, cradle my heart and remind me how blessed I was to once have the opportunity to spend so much of my time in the presence of James, the very Presence of Kindness.
