I asked Mom if she'd like to go out to lunch. I'd been away from her a bit, between a long weekend and a medical procedure, though we've talked daily. But she's been feeling a bit neglected, so I wanted our visit today to be a bit special.
We went to one of her favorites, Olive Garden. As I looked around, I was struck by the way our clothes and our companions brand us. I saw tables of apparent co-workers, dressed well, or at least 'business casual', talking intensely. I imagined their conversation ... about interest rates, or project deadlines, or complaining about the boss or the long work days.
I, however, was with the 90-year-old, who came in shuffling extremely slowly with her walker. We had little to say, because we'd already exhausted our usual topics. Instead of a nice knit with a silk jacket and perfect jewelry as I'd worn before, today I wore my shlumpy work-around-the-house, worn-at-the-collar grey velour outfit.
For a moment, I was jealous. I felt ... unimportant. I remembered the days when I went to lunch with co-workers, when we filled our table with laughter or urgent discussion or complaints about all the stress. When I looked good and was valued by my company, my boss, my peers, my clients. I was an expert. I was respected. I influenced senior decision-makers. As I look back, it seems that I used to be important, in my profession.
A few years ago, I chose a voluntary layoff from this Fortune 50 company. I wanted to do more in community service, and supporting my mother and my grandchildren. I honestly am SO very very glad, then and now. Though my work now does not have the value placed on it by salary or corporate world, I remind myself that I touch the lives of humans. I bring meaning to real people. I make a difference in a way that my Senior Program Manager job never did. Never could.
And just maybe just a couple of them looked at a relaxed woman lunching with her aged mother, sitting in a comfortable outfit, and were just a little jealous.
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2 comments:
I took my 91 year-old mother to lunch at a new Chinese food place last week. The restaurant was packed, primarily with folks who were at least 70 years of age.
When we were leaving, there was a van from one of the local assisted living centers blocking most of the parking lot as it loaded up with passengers, several of whom were in wheelchairs or with walkers.
My mother, who is still ambulatory, remarked that she didn't want to go to a place like that when she "got old." I had to laugh.
Oh what a delightful attitude ... 'when she gets old'. I love her positive life view!
Another restaurant story that touches me, remembering: Some years ago, I took my mom to breakfast at IHOP. We talked, teased each other a bit, touched hands. Laughed, as well as had some silences.
As the lady in the adjacent table got up to leave, she spoke to me with tears in her eyes. She said we made her remember fondly her time with her mother before she died, and was glad we had the time together. It touched me - and it's good to remember when I get impatient or weary.
In restaurants, we have this interesting intersection between personal time and public moments.
Thanks for sharing!
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