Overheard Words

I was stacking my groceries on the worn, black conveyor belt, preparing them for scan and payment. During such acts, I usually avoid people. An expert selective-listener, I’m very good at ignoring the chaos and chatter around me.

However, on this occasion a few words caught my attention. They reached out and hooked me, as if they were reeling me in to proclaim pay attention.

There I was sorting the goods in my cart, shuffling lettuce and rice and mint ice cream, when I heard…cancer…stage 4…chemo…we think this is it.

I looked up and saw a woman my age earnestly talking to the cashier who, barely 20, was at a complete loss for words. The cashier’s face conveyed panic. Oh God, what do I say?

I looked back at the woman and made eye contact. I held it, as she continued talking and I continued shuffling. It was like a dance. You move, I move, but don’t look away.

Her father-in-law was dying of cancer, she said, and he had just moved in with her family. He was fighting but they believed, per the doctors’ observations, that the end was near. They were trying to prepare. But they didn’t want to let him know how bad it was; they didn’t want him to give up.

She paused, looking at me wide eyed, then looked away.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, stopping my shuffling.

She nodded and looked back at me, offering a furtive smile; her eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A moment later, she issued a quick goodbye and hurriedly wheeled herself to the nearest exit.

I watched her go, wondering what the line of people behind us had thought, if they had even heard or cared about the transaction that had just occurred.

The cashier, who had begun ringing up my items, shook her head. “I just did NOT know what to say to that,” she said. “I mean, what do you even say?”

“Maybe the point was just to listen,” I offered.

“I guess,” she replied. “That’ll be $119.24 please.”

As I pulled out my wallet, I thought of the woman who had just left. She had needed to connect with someone, anyone. Why else would she bare her soul to perfect strangers in the check-out aisle?

She desperately needed to know she was not alone, that her pain would not absorb her completely.

I had paid attention to the 30-second version of her story. If I had been closer, not blocked from her by my cart, I may have even hugged her…something I bet neither one of us experience nearly enough.

Here’s my moral to the story: Next time I’m busy blocking out the world, I want to remember her.

I want to remind myself to look up and pay attention, to offer a simple ‘hello,’ a ‘great job,’ or some other form of acknowledgement. Even if all I have to offer is a silent smile and a nod, I can still convey a powerful message.

I see, hear, and feel you, and who you are matters.