When I first moved into my townhome in Sauk Rapids in autumn of 2014, my life was a matter of running here and there and trying to accomplish way too much more than my hours would allow me. As it is with any new homeowner, it was a hectic first few days that required me to make many trips to and from my new abode. The location of my new habitat demanded I pass by the Good Shepherd complex just south of my dwelling on an almost daily basis.
It was on one of those first ventures into the Benton Drive hub of retail outlets that I saw him. It was a moderately warm day in September 2014 and I was eager to accomplish all my pre-planned chores before the sun set. I drove by that Good Shepherd multiplex and there he was. He was sitting in his motorized wheelchair and as I passed, he waved. I, of course, was way too intent on accomplishing my specific resolves to even think about his presence by the side of the road.
In my little world of “must be dones,” I was obligated to make, again and again, a trip past Good Shepherd. Again and again, there he was and he waved. “Well,” I said to myself, “this won’t last long with winter setting in.” As that early winter dropped upon us in 2014-2015, complete with a frigid November that was, unfairly, too cold too early, I would take that same route. And yes, there he was, bundled against that Minnesota seasonal bitterness. And he waved. It was inevitable. For the first time, I waved back.
January 2015. I don’t know who hated those zero-to-whatever-below days more: me or my dogs, who had to suffer through potty duties (I’m referring to the dogs’ potty duties here). But in my travels – to the grocery store or wherever – there he was, seemingly unperturbed by those hostile weather conditions. And, yup, he waved. Now, I waved back on a regular basis and tooted my horn to let him know that I loved that wave.
Then came the spring of the year and he disappeared. Each time, I would pass by his usual waving place and I would look for him. Now my candor turned to concern. I wanted to drive into the parking lot, go into Good Shepherd and ask about my waving compatriot but I didn’t because of my fear I would look like an idiot. So I continued on my way.
Then, one day, alack and alas, as I made my way past Good Shepherd, there he was. He waved! And I waved and hit my horn and said (under my breath) “Amen.” Forever after that, up until the last episode, when I passed by and he waved, I waved back and smiled and always honked.
I wish I could give you a happy ending to this story but come the spring of the year 2016, my waving friend disappeared again – this time for good. I still drive by and wave to no one there. I know Good Shepherd is a place where people grow old comfortably and move on to another sphere.
I wonder if, in this world of confrontation and conflict, we took the time to wave at each other as we drove down our lanes of destination, what might be. Maybe, just maybe, things might be a little less confrontational and a little more affable. How many times has it happened that (in the course of vehicular activities) we have been given the beloved finger – no, not a waving finger? Wouldn’t it be wonderful, though, if that finger was surrounded by four others that were waving?
Perhaps we should all take a lesson from this gentleman who waves somewhere still and realize that in the short span of our lives, there should be a lot less hostility and a lot more waving.
In the interim, I say, “Wave on,” unknown friend, wherever you are and God bless you.
