I Saw an Old Lady Sitting Alone on a Chair What She Told Me Before She Died Changed My Life Forever

The first time I met her was a quiet evening. One day I was on my way home, really tired after work and in my thoughts, when I saw an old woman sitting alone on a wooden chair outside her small house. It was the sort of chair that was dusty and scratched, the paint chipped off, but she sat in it as though it were a throne. She had her silver hair twisted up and was wrapped with a faded shawl about her shoulders. She stared at the street with weary-looking and hopeful eyes. I was just about to pass by her but there was something lonely about her that made me stop and smile. And to my astonishment she raised her hand feebly and waved in response.

I saw her the following day. She sat in the same chair at the same place just like a statue that life had left behind. I did this time, and said howdy to her. Her face lit up as though she had not been addressed in days. She was called Mrs. Lillian, but she wanted me to call her, Lilly. She informed me that she was eighty-three years old living in that house more than fifty years. The old lady told me that the chair upon which she sat had been that of her husband, long since deceased. She whispered shakily, with a smile, as she sat down. I sit here because I can feel that he is still beside me.

She got used to me with time, as weeks went by. I would bring home fresh bread to her at the bakery or the flowers of the street seller and she would wait in her chair. She took them always as a child. One night, when I gave her a little bouquet of daisies, she clasped it to her bosom, and said, “Do you know why I love flowers?” Since they remind me that, no matter how cold is the winter, beauty will somehow return.

It was a rainy afternoon when I happened to run across her sitting outside though the wind was cold and the sky was dark. I hurried up to her and said, why had she not gone inside. She smiled a little bit and replied, when you are old each day is a borrowed day. I would not lose a single minute sitting behind walls. I would like to observe the world, even raindrops in the street.” She started coughing at that point and I immediately assisted her back into the house. She lived in a small and dim house with old photographs. I saw one photo of her at her young age with her husband laughing their eyes were full of dreams. I noticed her looking at it and she said, that was the best summer of my life. We loved and that was enough.”

When her health became frailer I started to visit more frequently. But I used to read to her books at times, or would only hold her hand. At one point she said to me, people believe that old age is about sickness and weakness but in reality it is about memories. They are the only things that will never leave us even when all other things do.” What she said hit my heart because I could only imagine how many of her memories were filled with people that did not visit her anymore.

I took her a warm blanket one evening. She touched it and smiled: you are like the grandchild I never see. Much to my tears that night, I arrived home. I reflected on the number of elders that live in silence, hoping that someone will just pay attention to them. They do not require much, a smile, a chat or a soft touch that reads, you still count.

Then one day I never shall forget. I rapped on her door as I normally do, and received no reply. Outside her chair was vacant. I was full of panic. I questioned a neighbor and he informed me that she was hospitalized the previous night. So I rushed off and found her lying on a bed weakly with half-closed eyes. At my sight she made an effort to smile. She knew I would come, she whispered. I took her by the hand and my tears fell. She gazed at me wearily and said, promise me one thing, promise me you will always sit with old people when you see them sitting alone. What they have inside them is worlds, and most of the world walks by without seeing.”

I nodded and could not talk. Mrs. Lillian went to sleep that night and never aroused. Her chair on the outside of the house was empty. And to me it was always more than a chair. It was a reminder of her, her wisdom, her love which she had so quietly given me in the last months of her life. I walk past her house sometimes and I picture her sitting there smiling at the world.

Then, I fulfilled my word to her. I now stop and greet the aged person when I see them sitting on their own in one of the parks, a bus stop or at a small shop. There are times I listen to them, sometimes I simply grasp their hand. And each time I know that Mrs. Lillian is smiling through the wind.

Old age is not an affair of dying. It is seeing, hearing and loving. Mrs. Lillian taught me that we can never give money or things as the best gift to another person but we could give them time. Since when the time is limited, it turns to be the most valuable treasure of all.