I looked up from locking my car as I prepared to enter my office Saturday morning.  A silver-haired lady with a slight stoop in her step and bend in her back was calling to me from the sidewalk and over the dull metal of her walker.  I headed over to her.  It was a pretty common sight to see walkers of all shapes and ages passing by on the sidewalk outside the church.  There's a retirement community next door to us, and I assumed that this was another resident out for an early morning stroll.

"I missed my bus and I have to get to school or I'll be late.  Can you give me a ride?"

Something didn't seem quite right, but I brushed it off.  I had a meeting that was about to start, and I couldn't give her a ride.  She smiled sweetly and thanked me as she shrugged and pointed her walker into the rising sun and continued down the sidewalk.  I headed back to the office, somewhat relieved that I had been able to avoid the entanglements of this situation without any unnecessary fuss.  But in the span of time it took me to unlock the outer door to the office and then my own office door, I was convinced that I had to go back out.  I was supposed to go talk with her some more.

I jogged back across the moist morning lawn and caught her at the curb of the side street next to our church, looking around somewhat confusedly.  I noticed for the first time that on the other side of that side street, the sidewalk doesn't continue.  Nothing after but weeds and the bike lane and a fairly busy street.  Perhaps in noticing the same thing, she had decided to pause and figure out what to do.  

I asked some questions, gently probing.  Where was her school?  What was the name of it?  She couldn't answer.  It was down that ways a little bit, but not too far.  She seemed momentarily puzzled by her own inability to answer my questions.  I apologized again for not being able to give her a ride, but offered to find someone who might be able to.  She confirmed she lived at the retirement village, and I offered to walk back and help her find someone.

Turns out it was no less than the first day of school, the day for making a good first impression she stated with a great deal of experience.  She didn't want the teacher to be mad at her for being late.  Several times she paused in her walking, making as if to turn around and walk on towards her school, certain that nobody where she lived would be willing to give her a ride.  I encouraged gently.  She relented.  We continued.  She asked what day it was, and seemed surprised it was Saturday.  It was odd to have class on Saturday, but she hated to be late.

The office wasn't open yet, but we found a community room where a fire was going in a fireplace and there was coffee and mini-muffins waiting at a table.  She was more uncertain now, more desirous of just going back on her own way.  I inquired with a young man who said the office opened at 9am.  I persuaded her we should sit by the fire with coffee and muffins to wait.  She shared a little about her life, how she had lived in North Carolina and New York City.  How she had studied drama, and one time only just barely made it into a special acting class as the second to last seat was snatched by another student.

I found the young man again and asked if there was someone he could call for help, then went back to sit with her.  The fire was warm and she was enjoying chatting about her past.  There was a daughter who had died, and that was so difficult for her.  But she had another child, somewhere.  And something had happened to her husband at some point as well, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.  She had a second cup of coffee, waiting for the memories to sort themselves out in her mind.

Two women arrived a few minutes later.  It was obvious she knew them, and that the knowledge wasn't entirely happy for her.  They were apparently staff in the building she lived in.  I explained that she had been trying to get to school, and they nodded in understanding.  I indicated that I had found her walking down the sidewalk a couple of blocks away and their eyes widened a bit as they sat and talked with us.

I left her with my card, and she said she had come to the church once or twice in the past.  But perhaps it was another church.  I walked back to my office, thankful for having listened to the insistent voice that told me that I needed to go back and be with this woman.  Thankful that there was a warm fire waiting for her and people who knew her and looked after her.  And thankful as well as hopeful that she won't have to worry about being late for class.