By Stephen C. Schultz
Picture if you will for a moment a cool Sunday evening in October. A steady rain has been falling all day with low billowing clouds that seem to touch the tops of the large Douglas Fir trees that make their home out by Fern Ridge Reservoir, just West or Eugene, Oregon. Our family has just returned from church and is sitting down to our Sunday dinner. At sixteen, I’m the oldest of five children.
The phone rings. Mom takes the phone and proceeds to walk around the kitchen. (This was before cordless phones. The phone had one of those 25 foot cords that always seemed to be twisted up!)
She is saying, “Yes Gabby. Uh huh, Gabby. You should be fine Gabby. Now take your medicine and I will talk with you tomorrow, Gabby.”
This went on for close to an hour. The rest of us had finished eating and the food on mom’s plate was cold.
I remember saying in a frustrated voice, “Mom, just tell her you have to go”.
You see, Gabby was a lady in our neighborhood who was in her mid to late fifties, but looked and acted like she was much older. She had a history of mild mental health issues, but took advantage of people in the local church congregation to provide her care. She would fain-fainting spells during church meetings; attend with bandages and crutches and walkers. She requested that local women in the church help her clean her home and bring her meals. She was simply offensive in her mannerisms and her manipulation. She took advantage of others kindness. Many in the church avoided her. My mother however, took her under her wing.
” Why do you talk with her or put up with her manipulation?” I asked as my mom hung up the phone. “The more you feed into it the worse it gets.”
I will never forget her response.
My mom simply said; “Hon, she is a child of God, and someday I will be on the other side with her.”
Picture if you will for a moment a cool Sunday evening in October. A steady rain has been falling all day with low billowing clouds that seem to touch the tops of the large Douglas Fir trees that make their home out by Fern Ridge Reservoir, just West or Eugene, Oregon. Our family has just returned from church and is sitting down to our Sunday dinner. At sixteen, I’m the oldest of five children.
The phone rings. Mom takes the phone and proceeds to walk around the kitchen. (This was before cordless phones. The phone had one of those 25 foot cords that always seemed to be twisted up!)
She is saying, “Yes Gabby. Uh huh, Gabby. You should be fine Gabby. Now take your medicine and I will talk with you tomorrow, Gabby.”
This went on for close to an hour. The rest of us had finished eating and the food on mom’s plate was cold.
I remember saying in a frustrated voice, “Mom, just tell her you have to go”.
You see, Gabby was a lady in our neighborhood who was in her mid to late fifties, but looked and acted like she was much older. She had a history of mild mental health issues, but took advantage of people in the local church congregation to provide her care. She would fain-fainting spells during church meetings; attend with bandages and crutches and walkers. She requested that local women in the church help her clean her home and bring her meals. She was simply offensive in her mannerisms and her manipulation. She took advantage of others kindness. Many in the church avoided her. My mother however, took her under her wing.
” Why do you talk with her or put up with her manipulation?” I asked as my mom hung up the phone. “The more you feed into it the worse it gets.”
I will never forget her response.
My mom simply said; “Hon, she is a child of God, and someday I will be on the other side with her.”
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