Parallax 2nd version

Parallax

(An apparent change in the position of an object when the person looking at the object changes position)

I thought I knew S. well. Every morning for five years she came to work as a chamber maid, in our motel, always punctual and cheerful.  Not having a driving license she was driven to, and from work, by her husband who took care of everything else in her life.  So when he suddenly passed away, by the end of the summer, no one (including me) believed she was capable of taking care of herself.

This overall view of S. as being very nice but, Oh, there is no nice way of saying it, not very smart and definitely not independent, was as firm as any other assumption people make about other people and is so often one sided and false, as I found within minutes after seeing her in her own home surroundings.

My husband and I walked into her house, to pay our respects, one late rainy afternoon. It was the first time I visited S. in her home and I was, in no way, ready for what I saw.  The house was overflowing with people who came to deliver their condolences. There were flowers and food everywhere, but most of all warmth and hospitality.

 S. spotted us immediately and took me by the hand. Completely unaware of my obvious discomfort, she pulled me to a small stand in the middle of the living room and pointed at the two urns, sitting one next to the other. With a glaze of dark blue patina they appeared as if they were made out of porcelain. Delicate gold edging, in the shape of intricate graceful leaves, adorned their base and gave them a very luxuriant look. They were completely identical, except that the left one was holding Ss’ late husbands’ ashes and the right one was empty.

“So what do you think?” She beamed at me.

When I did not say anything, being in somewhat of a shock, she kept on going.

“R. and I picked them together in one of our last visits to the dollar store, for $5 each. I liked them right away, and this way we can always be together.”

When I still did not respond, she pointed at the kitchen, where trays of food were laid for friends and family.

“I asked everyone to come here this afternoon, instead of the funeral home, because the weather was so gloomy and here it is warm, and with all this good food, so much nicer.”

 With that she passed her hand lightly on her husbands’ urn and continued to explain the memorabilia she staged around it from their life together, including his favorite mug and plate.

Seeing S. in her home, encircled by her family, and so completely in her element, was a revealing moment, the kind that comes along so rarely, and kicks you on the inside while changing your whole point of view. While some may think that identical, dollar store urns, placed in the middle of the living room are a bit tacky; I saw in it a sign of strength and independence, I never saw in her before.

When I returned my eyes to the display I was slightly horrified noticing there was food on the plate,

“He always loved peanut butter and jelly,” S. smiled as if reading my mind, I smiled back and nodded my head, of course, this made perfect sense.