The Tea Giver

She was a fierce woman. Kind of like that excellent teacher you never knew where you stood with, but somewhere, deep down, you knew she loved you. Not in a way that coddled or even always comforted, but in a way that is often needed. Widowed, she made a family for herself at the base where I worked for a summer. She knew and loved everyone, and everyone loved and respected her. 

One weekend we spent time at her home in the country. It was toward the beginning of the summer, and we all loved having the weekend away. Her home and the land around it was beautiful. She welcomed us in, we ate on china and drank out of glass goblets, nice at anytime, but especially so that summer. At tea time, we sat outside and drank from real teacups. As lovely her hospitably was, that wasn’t the thing that stuck out about her.

News came midway through the summer that my grandmother was passing away. I took the news hard. Partially because I was struggling being so far from home, partially because I loved my grandmother and I knew that this untouched reality was something I wouldn’t be able to face for a long time. I showed up at base for work the morning after getting that news, walked into the office overwhelmed, and I began to cry.

A few women surrounded me, hugged me and sat with me. She went and got me tea and a little something to eat. She hugged me. She let me be sad. I didn’t want to stay at the base and let everyone see me cry, so she let me go with her into town. I cried as she drove through the dusty African roads. She told me how she loved her husband to bits, and how hard it was to say goodbye when his time came. She grabbed my hand and told me I’d be okay. Then she hopped out of the car, went to the bank and we drove back to base.

Over the summer, I came to appreciate this woman more and more. Maybe there isn’t a showy message to glean from this little memory that rests on the edge of my mind. But on days like today, I can’t help but wonder if all we will remember when we get to heaven are the little small things that others did for us, and the moments where we had the sympathy to give the same to someone else.