Monday, March 19, 2012

Just beneath the surface

Our agent showed us a lovely home this past Saturday. Incredibly lovely. So lovely, we walked away thinking that though it wasn't in our walkable neighborhood it was lovely enough to just possibly be the house for us. As we parked our car at our condo, music filled the air and like children drawn to the Pied Piper we wandered over to the source of the sound, a St. Patrick's festival just across the way. The local pub packed green, the famous King of Pops vending all the finest flavors, and face painting and yummy burgers and a tightness in our chest because as much as we loved that house it would never be here, this village.

We drove back to see the house again later that afternoon to find someone to get their take on the neighborhood-- on this crisp, lovely day, the neighborhood resembled a beautiful brick ghost town. Finally we spotted someone checking the mail, his back stooped, his hair gray and his face weathered.

Excuse me? I asked rolling down the window. He turned and approached us. We asked him if he enjoyed his neighborhood. He did. If there people with kids. There weren't. Mostly old folks like me, he said with a laugh. But its a good area, I lived in Peachree Battle until my wife died, he suddenly looked astonished his eyes seeming to no longer see us, she died fifteen years ago. My, has it been that long? How could that much time have passed? He shook his head and paused again before clearing his throat and looking at us, the smile back in his eyes as he told us the benefits of the community and the distance to local shops. We watched him as he walked away.

This post isn't about my housing dilemma.

At least not entirely. It's about that one flash moment which lasted a scarce few seconds when I looked into his eyes and saw a blinding flash of pain and loss and loneliness and then-- a smile.  It's about the full realization yet again of how many of us live each day with so much pain buried just beneath the surface and how despite soul crushing tragedies we get out of bed, we brush our teeth, we put on a face to greet the world. The ability to love, grieve, and to live in spite of it is the part of our humanity that leaves me most speechless.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Sometimes I wish I knew you in real life...
God has blessed you with a compassionate, pure soul masha Allah. Most people would have been too engrossed in their own "housing problems" to notice what you noticed about that old man...God bless you :-)


Taha's mum

Aisha said...

You are too sweet Taha's mum. Thank you so very much.

Simeen Alikhan Kazmi said...

SO well put. you're so right- everyone has pain, and for the most part, we really have to just pack it in and keep on keepin' on, so to speak. But at least for myself- I feel so much joy, and an abundance of blessings, and part of the reason they're so sweet is the pain I've experienced in my life. I think it helps me be uber-appreciative of all the good (and mA there is so so much, I am thankful every day for my good fortune).
Whew. Anyway. Your post really moved me! I agree with Taha's mum- you have a keen intellect when it comes to people, Aisha. Thanks for sharing with all of us :)

Aisha said...

Simeen, you are so right, everything good in my life means so much more because of the tough moments I've experienced. I am so happy for you and your happiness, may Allah continue to bless you and keep you happy. Ameen.

mystic said...

Beautiful post!....

mystic-soul said...

Shared on my blog...with hope that you may allow....

Julia Munroe Martin said...

This reminds me of a Thoreau quote my husband often quotes to me: "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." But only once in a while do we have the flashes where we are allowed to see those moments of pain in others.... a moment of humanity shared.

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