Frances

Last night I was at an awards dinner for an old friend. She was receiving a young leadership award for her volunteer work in the community.



I was thinking back to the summer that I had an internship with a wonderful organization called Dorot. Dorot literally means generations in hebrew and the agency assisted and provided services for the homebound elderly on the upper west side. My job was to provide a shopping service for those who couldn't leave their homes. I would go to their apartments, get a list and money and go shopping for them.

One woman that I helped was named Frances. Frances was unlike my other clients because she wanted to go out shopping but was too scared to go out alone and I was asked to accompany her. So at least twice a week Frances and I would head out. Usually we did food shopping one day a week and the other day was other things she needed, shoes, prescriptions, etc.

I loved Frances, just adored her. She was 88 and very fiesty. And so sweet too. EVERY day that we would go out she would insist on giving me a plate of ice cream when we got home. EVERY SINGLE TIME. I remember the plate too, a glass plate with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I hate vanilla ice cream. I tried to come up with so many different excuses as to why I couldn't eat the ice cream but Frances always insisted.

I was so young. Too young. Too young to realize that it was about so much more than the ice cream for Frances. To her it was about providing me with something in return for my company. My services were free and Frances wanted to be able to "pay" me in some way. And much more importantly it was about "having me" for a bit longer. She was lonely and wanted to have company a bit longer.

Why didn't I see that? I was so oblivious.

At the end of my summer it was time to return to my junior year of college. As the end approached Frances kept telling me that she would lose her nerve without me and wouldn't be able to go out. I told her she'd do fine.

Again so young. SO young. Why didn't I realize that this was her way of asking me to come back and take her out even when my official capacity with the agency was over? Had I realized I would have made every attempt to take the train in and take her out as frequently as possible. How could I have missed that?

Frances has to be long gone now. It pains me to know that I can call her now and apologize for the 19 year old me who was too young and too self absorbed to realize all that she taught me that summer. She showed me the human spirit. She showed me how so little could affect someone so much.

Thank you Frances.