If you’ve been riding along recently as I’ve shared a few of my favorite, unexpected encounters, thank you so very much. I’ve loved the comments and input–reminding me that glimmers of goodness exist for each of us. We just need to slow down and reel ’em in.
Today’s final installment might be my favorite. I think it’s because crossing paths with “Marissa” pulled extra heartstrings, the ones related to my deep affection for those with intellectual and physical disabilities.
More about Marissa in just a moment. I want to pause and mention another oh-so dear one… my disabled sister, Lisa, whom many of you have come to know and love. That’s Lisa in the image above, offering the big grin.
Lisa adores anecdotes from my writer friends and knows many of you by name. I share tidbits about where you’re from–all around the globe–and Lisa loves stories about your travels, your families, your pets and your accomplishments.
Lisa and I both feel fortunate to think of many of you as found family. Connected by kindred threads; the very best kind.
Despite her intellectual challenges, my sweet sister understands that telling her own story of triumph and recovery helps other families in need, gleefully sharing gratitude and praise for the Clearbrook organization.
Lisa sees herself as an advocate and an ally, in spite of what some might perceive as limitations.
Earlier this year Lisa was honored as a Clearbrook “Shining Star” and we were asked to attend the fundraising gala, which was a very big deal. You can read about the event here and see the video and photos. Lisa still watches the replay on YouTube. A peak achievement in her life and a source of pride.
Services, support and kindness; things Lisa receives everyday thanks to the team at Clearbrook. Helping her to be seen and valued…which brings me to my encounter with Marissa.
Marissa
“Marissa”, was a member of our daughter, Delaney’s, Girl Scout troop, many years ago. As a person with disabilities, Marissa’s participation in Girl Scouts–with classmates from the sixth and seventh grade–was a wonderful example of inclusiveness.
Middle school girls aren’t known for loving kindness (I was one once; I’ve got credibility) but watching the care and patience Delaney and her fellow scouts bestowed upon Marissa was a sure sign of growing maturity. Whether they were assisting the troop leader by modifying group activities or slowing down to explain or read instructions, I watched the girls show their hearts. Instinctive patience–just like the kindness I witnessed then and now when Delaney interacts with her Aunt Lisa.
After high school, Marissa worked at the local grocery store, which has since closed. My first thought when I saw the “store closing” sign was, “Oh no…what about the special needs individuals, like Marissa, who do stock work and bags groceries…jobs lost?” Years passed and every now and then I’d think about Marissa, but had no idea where life had taken her.
Three weeks ago, I popped into a grocery store I don’t typically frequent and hoped to zip in and out, despite the unfamiliar layout. Traversing aisle after aisle, I was epically inefficient but managed to scoop up what I needed and headed to self-check-out.
Dashing around the store, I must’ve lapped Marissa a time or two. Unbeknown to me, she was behind a table offering free samples of cheese. In one of my laps around that particular aisle, I felt a tingle on my neck. Like a rustle of recognition, which I attributed to a scratchy collar.
It was Marissa–craning her neck as I swooped by, her big brown eyes like tractor beams on zoom-zoom me. The source of the tingle.
I realized none of this until I exited self-check-out, catching a glimpse of a dark-haired young woman at the sample station, staring in my direction, tractor beams still on. Marissa. A grown-up version of the young girl I remembered.
I stopped so fast, apples nearly toppled out of my bag.
“Marissa?” I yelp as I’m half-way through the automatic exit door, flailing like a fish trying to swim upstream, startling and annoying shoppers behind me.
“Oh my gosh! You saw me, before, didn’t you?” I say with gusto. “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice you.”
Sweet Marissa nodded and blushed, giving me her best wide smile.
“So good to see you! I’m glad you’re here — and doing a sample table, too? That’s awesome!”
Not missing a beat, she mouthed, “thank you” and continued to cube chunks of cheese, placing them in tiny white cups with her gloved hands. I saw the pride on her face. Without saying so, she was showing me her job, how she prepared the cheese. Methodically and with great care.
“It’s been a long time. How is your mom?” I ask.
“Good,” she says, whisper quiet, eyes focused on her work.
“Delaney will be excited to hear I ran into you. I’ll tell her you said hello?”
“Yes…and…” she pauses…
I remember her slight studder; her deliberate processing before speaking.
“Tell her…t-tell her hi…f-from me. Marissa.”
“Of course. And tell your mom I said hello, okay?”
She nods, a grin escaping from her face and I blow her a kiss and I wave goodbye.
Walking to my car, tears flowed. Tears are with me right now as I write this, remembering my brief, but emotionally impactful encounter with Marissa. A resonant reminder about everyday kindness and paying attention to what matters most. Sometimes the shy girl handing out cheese.
Thank you for being here, for reading this series. I don’t know who I might run into next, but I love the reminder to be mindful, to slow down with the people I encounter each day. Every moment matters.
Vicki 💝
Moments of Connection: Part I – Norman
Moments of Connection: Part II – London
Hi – I’m Victoria, Vicki, Dr. Vicki. I hold a doctorate in Adult Education and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), and author of Surviving Sue and Slivers.
Check out this link to learn more about Surviving Sue – a memoir about resilience and love. Check out this link to order Slivers in paperback, a ghost story with surprising twists. Click here for the e-Book.
Check out my interview with publisher, Rick Kaempfer from Eckhartz Press.
P.S. Are you on Substack? If so, I’d love to connect with you there: Vicki Atkinson, Ed.D | Substack
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