Remembering Jane

I don’t know why I remember, but at church one Sunday I stayed sitting when everyone else got up to sing. Then I looked left, and a woman three seats down was also still sitting. I don’t know why I remember but her hair was scraggily. I don’t know why I remember but she was holding her stomach. I don’t know why I remember but she was wearing a lime green skirt and torn yellow leggings. Her sweatshirt and her arms were wrapped around her middle, and her head was down. She was wrapped up inside her own arms. She was wrapped small, but I think standing she would be taller than me, which isn’t saying much, but it’s saying something. I don’t know why I remember, but after I rose to sing the last stanza if only to drown out the man down the row who always sings off-key, I looked again and the woman was still sitting. The song was over, and I don’t know why I remember, but everyone but me walked away. I stood staring, watching everyone walk away and was about to walk away too, but I didn’t. I don’t know why I remember, but it seemed like I should go talk to her. I don’t know why I remember, but I didn’t know what to say. I ran sentences through my mind. Ask if she’s ok; see if she wants to talk. See if she needs money. See how she found the church. I stood staring. I don’t know why I remember, but I wasn’t self conscious about staring. If she were someone I knew, I wouldn’t have stared but she was so wrapped up inside I didn’t think she noticed me and so I took advantage. I don’t know why I remember but I decided to sit down next to her and ask if she was ok and I don’t know why I remember but I do, she said, “No.” And I sat there and remembered that everything I’ve heard about helping someone is to listen, to simply sit with and be in their presence. And I don’t know why I remember, but it felt good to listen. And I don’t know why I remember, but eventually i talked too, to this complete stranger. I told her she wasn’t alone and that someone was there and she told me, “People are following me.” And I asked her, “Who?” And I don’t know why I remember, but I wanted her to feel believed. I don’t know why I remember but I asked her if it was ok if I put my hand on her shoulder and she said it was and I don’t know why I remember, but she cried. I think she felt as if some sadness could come out because someone was next to her. I introduced myself and she told me her name was Jane. I don’t know why I remember, but Jane told me that she knew people who practice witchcraft and that she was tired of locking up her things, and I told her that it must be hard to have to lock her things and I don’t know why I remember but I asked her if she thought she had a mental illness and she said, “yes,” and I thought that since she answered yes, maybe she wasn’t so far beyond gone, and I don’t know why I remember but I told her that she must have done something to get herself to the church and that maybe she didn’t need to understand everything but that maybe it was important that she came to church today. And I asked her if she was homeless and she said sometimes. And I don’t know why I remember, but she said thank you for sitting with me, and that makes me smile right now while I remember. And then I asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee and if she would like to meet our minister and she said yes then I introduced them to each other, and walked away. I feel bad about that, but I wasn’t sure what else to do, so later I talked to the minister again. And that night I sent notes to all the people I know who work with mentally ill or homeless people and I got some ideas about how to help her and I wrote them down and put them inside my purse for her and she was on my mind all that week and still is from time to time, when I see that piece of paper in my purse. And I still don’t know why I remember, but that was a lot to remember.

2 thoughts on “Remembering Jane

  1. Flora Parisky

    I think you remember because it was important that you remember. It was a much more meaningful encounter that people ordinary give themselves and each other.

  2. Nancy S. Hada

    You remembered too so that you could share it with us in such a beautiful and thought provoking way. Thank you.

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