When is a Stranger not a Stranger?

The following story is not mine. It was sent to me by one of my best friends. I loved it and felt it conveyed some of the themes that I often share. With his permission I am publishing it below, and adding one of my photographs of Morro Bay, California.

If you know me at all, you know I kind of enjoy meeting strangers and particularly enjoy some good-natured ribbing.  On a long-delayed trip to Morro Bay, Noella and I arrived in time for lunch on the bay.  After lunch I went for an espresso a few doors away along the waterfront.  Ahead of me was an elderly lady visiting with the barista. As she turned to leave, she saw me behind her and apologized for making me wait.  I jokingly told her it was a good thing I wasn’t in a hurry, or she would have been in big trouble. With that she pointed at the small dog she had on a leash and said it was a good thing I didn’t make trouble because she had her vicious attack dog with her.

We had a good laugh, and she slowly and cautiously made her way to the door relying heavily on her cane. I placed my order for espresso and on an impulse, I stepped back to the door where this fine lady was slowly making her way out and I said “Thank You! You just made my day.  It’s so nice to meet someone with good humor and a smile.” I went back and paid for my drink and learned that Kat was a regular and everyone loved her. So, I took my espresso and went back outside and struck up a conversation with her. I later learned that she had recently broken her femur in 9 places, hence the cane.

By this time Noella had joined the conversation, and as we visited, we learned that this delightful woman had volunteered for many years as a psychologist and counselor for people in prisons with addictions. She spoke lovingly of all the people she had helped, and proudly told us that she had been sober for 38 years. I congratulated her and volunteered my opinion that I thought you pretty much had to have gone through addiction issues and overcome them in order to truly understand how to help others. She laughed and said “OH YEAH!  It takes one to know one. These people go to school for 4 years and they think they know how to help. But I can spot them a mile away.” 

She went on to say “Don’t give them to me when they’re sober, give them to me when they’re drunk or stoned. Then I can start to make some progress.” She went on to tell us that one of her specialties was suicide prevention, and that the police would call her for the really tough cases. One of those was a teenager who was threatening to burn down the house and kill his whole family along with himself. It took her 4 hours to talk him down, but she saved that family. 

I shared with her that one of the toughest days of my life was when a very good friend, whose children went to the same Catholic elementary school as our kids, shot and killed her three beautiful little boys in bed and then killed herself. Noella and I knew that our friend was suffering from depression and were working with the school’s principal to see how we might help.  Because of this the principal called me at home and asked if I could go to the house and be with our friend’s distraught husband while awaiting the first responders.  That is probably the most difficult thing I have been asked to do.

Well, it turns out that she knew the story very well. Her son was the PE teacher at that school and in fact had very sad memories of this tragedy because he had just given a piggy-back ride to the youngest boy a few days before.  That would be his last memory of him.

We started exchanging memories of this tragic day.  Noella, who has never forgotten the details of an event or a name, asked her what her son’s name was and recognized it immediately. Oh, says Noella, did you know so and so? And she said, “Thats my sister!”  “Well, said Noella, her son was in my daughter’s class!” Oh my what a small world. 

It was getting close to the time we needed to let this wonderful lady get on with her day and get the weight off her poor leg. We had already learned that she was from a farming family west of Fresno, but I wanted to know a little more. Turns out her husband had been a big cotton grower in the tiny town of Helm, population 57. They met when she was 6 and he was 8. She went home and told her parents that she had met the man she was going to marry. She then laughed and said it took him another 25 years to figure that out for himself. 

Kat obviously had had a wonderful love and was still missing him terribly 6 years after his passing. But with him gone she had enough dirt and hot days and sold the whole thing and moved to the coast.  

So next time you see a nice old gal and her friendly attack dog at Daisy’s Organic Coffee and Teas on the Embarcadero in Morro Bay, stop and say hi and compliment her on her nice smile and good humor.

– P