Cruel-hearted Covid arrived with its chest sticking out and pocketed my freedom. As I tiptoed around it, leafing through ravaged seasons, I strolled daily through a field alongside Merlin Park Nursing Home. Inside one of the windows facing this field, a lady sat nesting in her bed. One day, as I was passing, I waved at her, and she, with the tenderness of a mother waved back. With her gaze hooked onto mine, we both shared a harmonious smile. I joined my hands in prayer, and she did likewise. I blessed myself and made an open hearted gesture to suggest that we would pray for each other. She nodded her head in agreement. From that day on I anticipated our regular exchange, hoping she would be in her usual place as I passed.
One particular day, two ladies known to me, stood in the same field. They were ringing their dad who was residing in the nursing home hoping to see him through his window. They saw me wave at the lady so I told them our story. One of the ladies happened to know her and she told me that her name was Kathleen and that she often brought her buttons for her sewing projects.
That evening, I made a surprise attack on my beloved stash of buttons and wrote her an accompanying letter. I handed both the letter and the buttons into the nursing home while out for my stroll the following day. In the letter I told her who I was and how I learned her name and found out about her use of buttons. Afterwards, as I was passing the window, she looked out, and upon seeing me, started waving the letter in the air with great glee. It was a heart-warming moment.
A few weeks later, I called to the nursing home door to see if I could meet with Kathleen in person. Moments later, she was brought to the door in a wheelchair and it felt like we had known each other a lifetime. She told me that she would love me to call to see her anytime and I will, when Covid gentles itself.
Anne Newell
