A number of years ago, I took a trip across the country alone on the train. I had only recently graduated from university so I could only afford the Day Nighter seats, which reclined for sleeping. This precipitated one of those events which, although it seemed minor at the time, has become something which has taught me a lesson.
I had brought my headset with me and some books. In the day I loved to watch the country reveal itself to me, but at night I read. I've always been an insomniac. I'd gotten some odd looks when I'd told people that I was going to take the train across the country alone. But, I wanted to think and I enjoyed my privacy. It was April and the seat beside me had remained unoccupied thus far.
When the train stopped, a woman and a boy got on. Throughout the evening I noticed her fussing with him a lot and I could not help but reflect that this kid had to be very spoiled. The woman continuued to flutter over him. Finally, when it came time for the boy to sleep, she covered him with a blanket and then she laid down in the aisle.
I took off my headset and walked up to the woman who was full out on the floor of the train. Although the company did the best they could, it was still a well trod upon floor and cold, as the door compartments at either end were constantly being opened. When I bent to speak to her and she responded, I realized that she spoke French.
As much as I'd loved my privacy all across the country, I invited her to come sit in the empty seat beside me. As it was across the aisle from her son and only one down, she had an excellant view of him. My French faltered but she understood and gladly accepted. I could tell she did not want to sleep on the floor and she was embarassed about blocking the path.
Thus began my lesson. It turned out that we had somebody in common. Years earlier I'd taken part in a French immersion program in a small town in Quebec and stayed with a host family. This woman was from that small town and friends with this lady. What were the odds?
As the country blurred by in the dark, with the forced intimacy of the seats and the knowledge that we weren't total strangers, we began to talk. Or, she did. The language barrier fell. Her other son had died of leukemia only weeks earlier. Now I understood why she'd seemed to be an overly indulgent and fussy parent. I was beginning to learn something about myself and how things were not always what they seemed.
My bad accent did not matter as she did most of the talking. Her weeks of pain were permitted to come out in the rocking of the train and in the intimacy of the dark. She didn't have to be strong in front of me like she did in front of her child. Then, finally, she slept.
There's a saying that "God is in the details". I'm an atheist but I shall appropriate it for the time being as it works. It really is the little things that count. One never knows how that quick smile or kind word can make a difference. Merely listening to somebody or allowing them to vent may allow a person to get through another day. Some people are grasping for anything that works, much as the drowning person flailing away. Conversely, that which we do can also be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back. The one final thing at the end of a very bad week that pushes somebody over.
As the economy sinks deeper into an abysmal quagmire, the stress on people will only worsen. I think it's important that I remember the lesson learned on the train.
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