A Grandmother Cries over a Broken Heart

I met Phyllis at a coffee shop. She was crying. I could have just ignored her or I could have turned around and walked away like most people. Instead, I sat down at her table and said, “Tough day?”. She looked at me and tried to shrug off the need to have a stranger care about an old woman.

“Has someone hit you?” I asked. There was no blood but a bruise was beginning to show. “No, no”, she said and tried to laugh it off a bit. I asked if I could get her a cup of coffee or tea. She breathed in with kind of a sniffle and said, “Tea, please.”

I went to the counter and ordered coffee for me and tea for the lady. I asked the woman behind the counter if she had seen anything going on to hurt the elderly woman. She shook her head and said, “No, she just came in with her head hanging down and sat in the first chair closest to her.” I thanked her for the information and then chose twelve cookies to go along with the tea and coffee.

I took the tea, my coffee and cookies to our little table. She thanked me. Picking up the cup of tea she said, “I’m Phyllis. My grandson Haime is having problems.”

She then raised the cup to her mouth and sipped, just the tiniest bit to check its heat, and then sipped a bit more. I waited a bit, not asking about her grandson. I simply sat and waited. I was facing the doorway and watched the rain slide down the glass door for a minute before she spoke.

“It was drugs of course. He used to be such a bright little fellow. I enjoyed watching him while his mother was at work. As he got a little older, I taught him various card games and we would play for hours and hours, laughing and enjoying ourselves. Once a week we made cookies together and then we sat and talked and played. Sometimes in the good weather we would walk around the neighborhood and look at and enjoy the flowers and trees.”

She bowed her head a bit to cover up a few tears running down her cheeks. I wiped away a few myself.

I heard the door open and looked up to see a dirty young man approach us. He got to the table and said plaintively, “I’m sorry, gramma. I am so sorry; I really am.” She just looked away.

I didn’t know what to say or do. I could see him shaking. I didn’t know if it was sadness for hitting his grandmother or just not having drugs to help him along. I watched as Phyllis opened up her purse and give him a bright yellow card. The card was from her church, offering free coffee and various ways to help people become better Christians. The grandson took it and thanked his grandmother then turned and with his head hanging down he just walked away.

We sat eating cookies and drinking our tea and coffee and smiling, just enjoying our selves. I had a meeting to go to, so I thanked her for a nice talk and she thanked me for just being such a kind shoulder to cry on. I went and got her some more tea. We had been talking so much, we hadn’t eaten all the cookies. I offered her a ride and she thanked me and gave me a hug. We had to hurry through the rain. It was coming down so hard you had to lower your head to make it through the wet wind. We got into my car; I turned up the heat a bit and took her home. It wasn’t that far away. I walked her to her front door and then quickly went through the downpour back to my car.

I drove away with a few tears in my eyes. While we were leaving the coffee shop, I had looked down as we walked to my car. As I looked down . . .  and saw a yellow card floating in a pool of water. I didn’t call attention to it. I knew exactly what it was.  I didn’t want to ruin Phyllis’ day even more. I let it ruin mine instead.