Happy and heartened to find kindness on the menu

I love it when grace and humanity lift their heads. When kindness is extended effortlessly. When the goodness in human beings outshines the negativity that often seems to wrap its arms around the world. 

And I love it even more when those graces are extended not to me but to the ones I love.

My father-in-law has been in my life for more than 30 years. A man of not many words but one who welcomed me into the fold from the time My Favourite Husband (MFH) brought me “home” to meet his family. 

We’ve laughed together over the years. Had great conversations about many, many things. Not long after I met him, MFH and I were at the local drag race strip. My father-in-law came out to watch and, in between our runs, came to hang out in our pit. We were busy thrashing on the car and I banged my finger. It hurt. A lot. And, without thinking, quite loudly, I said: “Fuck!” Now a racetrack is seldom quiet but, that precise moment, it was quiet enough that my future father-in-law heard his future daughter-in-law use a word that wasn’t ladylike. He looked at me, said nothing but the huge grin on his face (both at my vocabulary and my beet red face) said it all: “Welcome to the family."

Thirty years is a long time to know someone. To bind with them. To love them. And 30 years is also a long time to watch them age. See their body bend and bow with advancing years. Myfather-in-law was never a large man but he was a strong man. A proud man. A determined man. A man I’m grateful to call Dad. And I love him.

His wife — my other Mom — passed away in 2020. A rapidly spreading cancer and COVID-19 protocols meant the end of her life was quick and isolated. And I could see the toll it took on him. He was lost without her but determined to push ahead. But a year later, his eldest son — MFH — died and that was a blow that hit too hard. Although he’s done a wonderful job trying to live a good life, the deaths and the passing years are something that’s becoming evident. His memory is clear but has moments of jumble. He’s thinner than he should be. But the challenge that’s being navigated the most is his loss of hearing. 

He communicates with a whiteboard; whoever he’s with writes and he speaks the conversation back. It works. 

Recently, I picked him up and took him for lunch to his favourite restaurant. We got settled at a table and he took out his whiteboard, ready to converse. He carefully dug in each of his coat pockets, multiple times. His pen was in his other jacket. His face was filled with anxiety. I knew we could do pen and paper but the whiteboard is what he’s comfortable with. 

Now here’s the humanity, Part 1.

Our server was this warm, incredibly lovely young lady. She popped over to get our drink order. I explained our dilemma. "Was there, perhaps, a whiteboard pen we could borrow?" Not only did she find one, she brought an eraser as well. That, alone, with her positive attitude, made our lunch a happy thing. But what she did next made my heart burst with love. This incredible young lady began writing to Dad! She introduced herself, took his order. Asked how his meal was. Made small talk. She engaged and included him. How beautiful to witness! She didn’t look at me for answers, information, questions. She included him. 

Dad kept saying how good she was. And, after I successfully got him to agree to letting me pay the bill, told me to make sure and tip her.

What a beautiful experience! In a day and age where going slow and including people doesn’t always happen, she took a few extra moments to make sure his experience was good. 

In a brief conversation with her she mentioned that she teaches dance to seniors with Parkinson’s, so communicating in tricky situations is extra important.

I believe it’s the little things, the kind things, the grace and humanity that matter, that make the world a better place.

 

Beautiful to witness. Beautiful to live by.