Last week I told you about "Betty." Here's the story about my friendship with "Amelia".
I don't know the difference between a Chrysler and a Ford, but whatever it was, I often saw it gliding down my street at about 15 miles an hour. It looked like something out of a 1960s television show. You know, the kind of car you might have seen on Leave It to Beaver. The driver's head was visible from the side window, but could barely be seen over the steering wheel. She casually waved to me just before she turned into her driveway across the street and three houses down from mine. The white house with red brick siding and large picture window was designed much like my 1940s house. I watched her park that big ol' white "tank" in her one car garage. I was sure she'd knock the side mirrors off or scrape the tale-end, but she manipulated that car with flawless precision. Moments later the garage door closed, and that was that. Some days she would go from the garage to her front yard, reposition her water hose, then disappear into the garage again. That was the extent of our contact... for about two years. Not meeting Amelia wasn't intentional. I hadn't given it a second thought. Actually, I hadn't given it a FIRST thought. I was fine watching her drive by, wave and park.
I was working in the yard one afternoon, when I spotted "the tank" approaching. I waved, but to my surprise, she slowed down, and stopped in the middle of the street. I saw her glasses first, then I saw her face. She looked to be around 80 years old. Her hair was a precisely measured combination of dark grey and white. Her small frail looking finger beckoned me. It was the way her pink lipstick moved that clued me in on the fact that she was saying something to me. I found myself standing in the middle of the street, my head lowered so that I could understand her quiet raspy voice. "My name is Amelia" she said, over enunciating the syllables, "AH-MEE-LE-AH". She must have picked up on the Huh? I can't hear you look I gave. She didn't raise the volume of her voice, she simply spoke distinctly. In less than two minutes, I learned that she was born in Greece and raised in California. She was widowed and had two children. She was a school teacher, and she enjoyed traveling. At that, she bade me "good day," and drove on. I watched her car until she turned the corner, and I returned to my yard. I took our short interaction as my cue to stop waving and start visiting.
The first visit was a little awkward. I rang the doorbell and waited. I wasn't sure if she was home because I hadn't seen her drive pass my house. When she opened the door, her greeting sounded like she was expecting me. "Well, come in!" she said, opening the door wide enough for me and the rest of the neighborhood. "I just stopped in to say hi" I said, stepping into her quiet home. I felt unexpectedly strange about being there. It was like I was secretly visiting someone's grandmother. "I won't be staying long," I said. Maybe I was hoping she would be glad about that. "Stay as long as you'd like," she smiled. "We're going to be good friends." Five minutes, and I'm outta here! I didn't say that, but it sums up what I was thinking. I sat down and looked around. Everything was settled and polished and ascetically placed. I had a mental flashback to the four year old me. Sit still and be quiet.
Amelia didn't move quickly, but she certainly had zest. She sat in the high back chair across from me. We reintroduced ourselves, and before I knew it, my five minutes had given way to about thirty minutes of talking, laughing and getting acquainted. On my way out, she thanked me for coming and asked that I come again. I did, but not very often. I missed Betty, but I didn't want Amelia to be Betty for me. I wanted to be her friend although I had a little trepidation about her age and my heart. I didn't want to miss her too.
Over the course of a few months, Amelia stopped driving. She began taking a cab or calling her daughter to take her to her appointments. One day she called me. She had "an emergency" hair appointment, and her daughter wasn't available to take her. Not a problem. When we arrived, I walked her into the salon. There were three or four other elderly ladies already seated. One lady asked Amelia about her daughter, who had been bringing her. Amelia did a Queen Elizabeth-like wave and announced "This is my friend, Kimber. She's the ambassador of friendship." Just as the oohs and ahhs started, an awkward smile gripped my face. I greeted the ladies, turned and made a quick exit. Driving home, I laughed. No, I thought, she's not Betty. She's Amelia, and we're going to be friends for a while.
Amelia and I didn't DO things together. As a matter of fact, the beauty salon trip was the only time we went anywhere together. I visited her, but I didn't always go into her house. I often stood on her steps for a few minutes and we'd chat. Then we wouldn't see each other for a week or two.
I suspect that Amelia enjoyed our short bursts of visits just like I did. Our chats gave her the opportunity to dream out loud. "Let's go to Greece!" she said out of the blue. She didn't ask if I wanted to go or even if I liked traveling. I could have said no, but why? I had never been to Greece, so why not dream a little with my friend? She told me about the places we'd see and how long we'd stay. She talked about the food and, "oh by the way, have you been to the Greek festival yet?" "No?! Let's go next year!" "Do you know (this official or that official)?" "No?! I'll introduce you." That was how she was. She wasn't ready to stop living, even though she depended on others to be a part of her dreams.
I knocked on Amelia's door one afternoon, but she didn't answer. I phoned her, and still no answer. I figured she was out on one of her many appointments. But when I didn't hear from her or see her for over two weeks, I worried. One day I was walking by her house and saw her in the window. Phew! She had been in the hospital with the flu.
The next time she was "missing", it was for several weeks. I kept an eye out for her. Several more weeks passed, and I feared the worst. One Sunday morning I saw an estate sale sign on Amelia's lawn. My fear was true. Amelia had died. Her children were selling everything in her house. I took the opportunity to walk over and introduce myself. Her daughter told me that Amelia had been in the hospital with the flu. She was recovering, so they transferred her to a nursing care facility. While she was there, she fell and broke her hip. She passed away several days later.
I was sad to know that I would no longer see Amelia, but I didn't mourn her passing the way I did when Betty passed. I liked Amelia, and especially enjoyed being part of her dreams. I knew from the beginning that this kind lady who drove the tank was not just looking for a friend. She needed someone who believed in her dreams just as much as she did. But it wasn't just about her dreams. God placed Amelia in my life for me. I learned some important life lessons during the season of our friendship. First Lesson: Don't just wave, stop in for a visit. Second Lesson: Be an ambassador. Third Lesson: Be a part of someone's dream.
I You, God for my friends, Betty and Amelia.
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