Tag: Human connection

The Weight of Quiet Places

by stephsimply, posted in Travels

What My Papaw’s Words Taught Me About History, Humanity, and Remembrance

“Pause, stranger, when you pass me by: As you are now, so once was I. As I am now, so you will be.”—variation of a popular epitaph

👧 The Wisdom We Don’t Yet Understand

As a young girl, my Papaw had a habit of taking both my hands into his large, weathered palms, looking directly into my eyes, and telling me something he felt was important. However, most of the time, I was far too young to understand the conviction, intent, or meaning behind his words. What I did understand was that he loved me, and that was all I needed to know.

He was especially sentimental whenever we were preparing to leave the house he shared with Grandmother. We would stand near the back door, putting on our coats and waiting for adults to gather things as we went through the traditional long Appalachian goodbyes. My grandmother, redolent with the scents of buttery foods, talcum powder, and Avon Vit-moist face cream, would pull each of us in for a big ol’ hug and wet smooch on the cheek. Papaw would tell us to get some fresh orange slices from the candy jar on our way out the door. It was then that he tended to grab my hands. Sometimes he would tell me something funny or factual, but on other occasions, when I now realize he was feeling particularly sentimental, he would share a bit of “wisdom.”

With great earnestness, he would often say, “Stethie, as you are now, so I once was. As I am now, so you will be.”

His tone was filled with such loving kindness, and in my great wisdom I thought I understood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I would think in my haughtiness. “One day, I will be old too, and I will be sad.”

It seemed like one of those strange things grandparents say to their grandchildren. I now understand it differently.

📖 When History Becomes Human

Antietam National Battlefield

Recently, as I walked the fields at Antietam National Battlefield, Papaw’s words came to mind again. Standing on the grassy knoll behind the Antietam Visitor Center, I took in the beauty of the mountains in the distance, the soft whisper of the breeze through grass, the ordinary beauty of blue skies punctuated by large, billowy clouds, and the random red fire hydrant in the middle of the grass. It seemed impossible that this place of rural beauty was once the site of horror, destruction, and bloodshed.

Antietam National Battlefield Visitor Center

Inside the Visitor’s Center I read documents, watched a short documentary, and gazed at displays that emphasized the large loss of life. Those who were lost were someone’s child, grandchild, spouse, or friend. Yet, standing on that knoll, it occurred to me: this was history that happened to people. Not statistics.

Droplets of sweat ran down the middle of my back, bringing me to my senses once more. All around me people walked the grounds with a hushed reverence, drove through the expansive battlefield, listened to online narratives, and took pictures. The fields possessed a heavy quiet, but that silence did not mean nothing happened here. And, perhaps, that was what gives places like Antietam their weight: the landscape remembers what we cannot see.

Antietam National Battlefield

While history classes, books, and even documentaries have provided me with knowledge for years, being physically present at Antietam gave that knowledge color, emotion, and context. Visiting places can turn history into a human experience.

The next day I visited Harpers Ferry. While these historically significant sites were different, both forced me to consider the consequences of human choice. At Harpers Ferry, the pictures and placards about John Brown suggested that his mission was driven by deeply held convictions. As I walked through the town, read the historical markers, and walked across the bridge that overlooked both the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers, I couldn’t help but wonder, “What makes human beings so willing to fight for what they believe to be right?”

🧬 The Inheritance We Carry

History, it seems to me, is not a collection of events that “happened way back when.”  It’s about people—people who made choices. Those choices affected others, and eventually they became part of the inheritance we carry—an inheritance that still affects us today.

I think of Papaw all those years ago and the message he was trying to convey: “As you are now, so I once was. As I am now, so you will be.”

Antietam National Battlefield

When I was younger, I thought the message was about one’s mortality. After visiting those hallowed grounds, I am beginning to think his words were about human continuity. The people who walked those grounds, worked those fields, fought those battles, and died there were once where I was standing. And someday I will be where they are.

We cannot change what happened in history. We can choose to remember it. We can choose whether to allow history to stir greater compassion within us or to allow it to divide us. We can choose to recognize the humanity of those who went before us, whether we agree or disagree with their positions.

Perhaps that is what Papaw was trying to teach me all along: to pause long enough to remember that every person we encounter is living a life that someday will become someone else’s history.

When a Stranger Helped Me Pick Up the Pieces

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

Sometimes the most meaningful acts of kindness come from strangers we may never see again.

❄️ The “Perfect Storm” at the Grocery Store

It was another cold, snowy morning with another round of snow on its way. School had been cancelled for the day, and I thought I would be “smart” by driving to the grocery store early. Surely no one else would do that ahead of the snow. They would have done their shopping last night, right?

Pulling into the parking lot, snow piles—peppered with dirt and debris—blocked several parking spots. Light snow sprinkled down from an angry sky darkened by winter’s wrath once again. It was a Friday, the first of the month, so I should have known that despite the early hour, few parking spots were available. Then it hit me: big-game weekend.

🛒 The Cart with the Stubborn Wheel

Once parked, it was a “perfect storm” inside the store. 80s pop music attempted to brighten the mood. Harsh fluorescent lighting contrasted the outside winter skies.  Paper ads of this week’s specials fluttered in the air as the double doors whooshed open and closed repeatedly. The only cart available was a small cart, which was perfect for my needs. The only problem? It had a front wheel that did not roll properly. 

I quickly attempted to push it. After all, I only needed a few items, but that stubborn wheel kept sticking, making corners especially difficult to turn. Nonetheless, I found a way to, well, get it rolling, and attempted to weave in and out through the throngs of dilly-dallying people and displays. 

I reminded myself of the mission since I had already “researched” prices online: Stick to the list organized by aisle numbers. Get in and get out quickly. Online work awaited me at home, and snowfall had already started. I told myself to slow down, but I kept my pace up anyway.

📦 When Everything Came Crashing Down

And, of course, it happened. The wheel stuck right as I tried to turn a corner. It was like a bad slow-mo scene from an old black-and-white B-movie. I tried to stop it, then catch it, but it wasn’t enough. An entire cardboard display–stockpiling the greatest hits of pharmacy specials—began to crumble to the floor.

 I stumbled, fumbled, and bumbled with individual boxes of pain relievers, antacids, toothpaste, vitamins, and cold/flu care items. Embarrassment colored my cheeks and a sensation of shame sent waves of heat through my body as my heart began to race. I was a child again, and it was “all my fault.” “You should have known better, Steph” echoed in my mind. I tried to work quickly, but my hands were as clumsy and klutzy as that misbehaving wheel. 

🤝 The Kindness of a Stranger

Then, I sensed a presence. I gazed up from a squat position on the floor and there stood a young woman with large expressive eyes. Her kindness was palpable as she stooped down beside me. Her long fingers worked with calm, coordinated dexterity, and she began to help me. I began to protest that it was “my mess,” not her responsibility. Her hands continued to work with precision, and she met my gaze, declaring that it was only cardboard–“no big deal.” 

The display was like putting together a 3-D jigsaw puzzle. Nonetheless, my heart slowed with the gentleness of her response. When we were finished, we each had a few items left over in our hands with no more room on the cardboard shelves. The unknown woman flipped her long chestnut hair over her shoulder and gave an unexpected child-like giggle. In a conspiratorial voice, she directed us to “put the rest of the items here.” It was on a shelf of an endcap of laundry detergent, beads, and dryer sheets.

She winked. “It makes about as much sense as this random display.” 

I thanked her profusely, but she waved me off with an it-was-nothing expression.

❄️ A Snowflake Memory

When my daughter was quite young, I recall playing with her, gleeful and reveling in the snow. “Catching” snowflakes on her mitten was a favorite activity. Time fell away as delicate flakes alighted onto our upturned mittens. There was a silent wonder that muted even the beating of our hearts as we gazed at each individual snowflake. “Look, Mommy, look!” she would say as slowly each snowflake melted into the fabric of our mittens, leaving only a whisper of a mark.

The woman escaped as quickly as she appeared. For a fleeting moment I was back in the snowy front yard with my daughter, silence filled my ears as the warmth of her generosity lingered within me. Then, just as quickly the milieu of the store came back into focus: the buzzing lights, calls for help up front, the throngs of people with party trays, beer, and bread, and another 80s be-bop song played in the background. 

With a warmed and lightened spirit, I trooped off to gather the few items remaining on my list. Of course, my cart still had the broken wheel, and it was still hard to maneuver it through crowded aisles and endcaps. Still, I was able to get the rest of my items without incident. 

How many of us navigate life’s challenges with little vulnerabilities wobbling within us like that shopping cart wheel?  Helping hands are seldom asked for, but often needed in a hurried and harried world.

🌊 The Ripple Effect of Kindness

A week or so later, when I visited the same store, I noticed a woman struggling to reach an item from her motorized shopping cart. One of her legs was in a boot—her current wobbly wheel. As I offered to help her, I was reminded of the helping hand that lifted me up during one of life’s storms and sensed the rippling waves of one person’s ordinary kindness.

Kindness, generosity, and brief moments of courage—these are the connections that steady us when life turns snowy and cold and hands us a cart with a wobbly wheel.