In Memory Of Mrs. Becker
Born July 7, 1907---Died July 7, 1983
7:30 p.m. in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida at Holy Cross Memorial Hospital

She died on her birthday. . . .at the age of 77

A Matter Of Judgment

Today, I had pretty much reached my capacity for patience and stamina as I reluctantly went about doing mundane house chores on my only day off. I resented the life I had, which consisted of nothing more than a sixty-hour work week and raising my son alone. I had no time for myself and even less time to go out and meet people. Surely on a Sunday in Ft. Lauderdale, there were a number of things that women my age were doing, and yet as I pondered that idea, it depressed me. I didn't like 'following the crowd' and the few times I tried, gave me either a hang-over or left me feeling like I had wasted my time when there was something more important needing to be done. I was twenty-three going on forty and I was proud of it. I always did relate better to people much older than I. They had stories to tell that I wanted to hear and knowledge to give that I wanted to know.

I came out of my daydream and focused my attention on what needed to be done before Ronny woke from his nap. I grabbed the laundry basket and was just about to open the back door when suddenly I stopped dead in my tracks as I caught sight of an old lady hurrying past my window with my son's blanket in her hands. I stood there with my mouth open not believing what I was seeing as I watched her on a fast trot through my yard. I've got to get that blanket back! I thought. It's the only one he has! I threw the clothes basket on the bed and ran to the living room window to see which house she was going to. She was a large woman, not so much in weight, but in height. Her build was broad and her hair a darkish-gray, fixed in a bun wrapped high on her head. I watched her scurry across the street in her old granny dress and big-old clunker high-heeled shoes. She must be close to seventy years old, I thought, so what in the world did she want with my baby's blanket?  The anger in me reached its peak again. I stormed out of the house over to hers determined to win this one out. Suddenly she appeared standing as high as the screen door waiting patiently for me to arrive.

"Howdy, I'm Mrs. Becker!" she shouted as I reached her front porch. "Hello," I replied. "I'm Cheryl. I live just across the street over there and I believe you took my son's blanket. I'd like it back."  "Oh Honey, you can have it back." she said sympathetically opening the door to let me in. "It's just over there on top of those clothes lying on the couch."  I spotted it immediately and when I walked over to pick it up, I noticed the musty, old smell protruding from her clothes where the blanket was lying. Actually, the whole house smelled like that. 'Now I'll have to wash it again!' I thought to myself, feeling more agitated. I wanted to ask her why she would even do such a thing, and decided against it while she stood firmly in the doorway and I was still in her house feeling a bit trapped. I took a quick glance around and saw exactly what I expected to see. . . .dark carpet, dark furniture, dark drapes. Everything old and dark. Why do people over sixty always wear dark colors and have dark, old furniture? Old and drab is what surrounded me and I hated drab. I quickly headed for the door hoping she would move, and as she did, I gave her an angry "thank you" and got out as fast as I could.

"Can you stay a while?" she asked. "I don't get much company."  When she said that, I stopped, turned around and faced her as I stood in her front yard. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't my problem and that I had more important things to do. "What church do you go to?" she continued.  "I don't go to church." I replied. "Haven't been for years."  "Well then, I'll have to bring you to mine!  How's next Sunday?"  "No Mrs. Becker." I said firmly. "Sunday is my only day off and there's too much I have to do, and getting back to the baby right now, is one of them."  "Well Honey, if you can come, bring the baby with you. I'll be home from church by one."  "We'll see." I said, faking a smile, and left.  I could feel her eyes watch me as I walked away. I didn't look back, just to show her I was as strong as she was.

I thought about her often the following week and felt that she was really quite harmless. Maybe that's the way they made friends in her time, I thought, though I doubted it. If anything, they would borrow, not steal. I just couldn't figure out why she came over and took something from me instead of asking for it.

I brought Ronny with me that Sunday to visit her, mostly out of curiosity. I was amazed at the patience she had with a one year old that grabbed everything he could get his hands on. Nothing that my son did bothered her, and because of that, we slowly and steadily grew closer and I began to trust her as time went by. It wasn't long before Mrs. Becker and I became very good friends and Ronny came to know her as a grandmother. His real grandmother had died long before he was born, and Mrs. Becker just seemed to step in and take over, as I noticed she did with just about everything. She was a woman that was strong, both in character and in controlling her situations. It could have been from the hard life she had throughout her years or the difficulty in her marriages. She didn't have any children, or at least none that she spoke of, and as far as I could tell, she had no family left either. Many of her stories consisted of her loneliness and the hurt she endured from two unfaithful husbands, and mine consisted mostly of my complete bewilderment of life in general.

Every Sunday Ronny and I went to church with her and afterwards we'd go straight to her house and have lunch and talk about the sermon or whatever came to mind. I realized as time went by, that she didn't have a harsh word or a critical thing to say about me when I would confide in her over something stupid I did that I knew would bring me heartache. "You're young." she would say. "You've got a lot of learnin' to do before you can figure it all out. You're doin' the best you can."

I learned some things about myself just from watching and listening to her. I learned that I was very judgmental. I distrusted and criticized almost everyone quite harshly. She never told me that, but I eventually saw it in myself just by spending time with her. Her character was quite the opposite, and that gave me something to compare myself to. If there was anyone that should have been distrustful, it should have been her from two unfaithful husbands, but she had a free-spirited character that I had quickly adopted.

After several months, I brought back the same blanket that she once took, and as I handed it to her, I could tell by the smile on her face and the gleam in her eyes she knew I would always be around. For some reason, unknown to me, Mrs. Becker wanted that blanket and I loved her enough that I wanted her to have it. I suppose it was the beginning of a small but permanent family she would have again in her life.

I never did ask her why she 'stole' the blanket, because she never once questioned me as to why I did something that I knew I shouldn't have done. I felt if I brought it up, that would be over-stepping the boundary that we had created in our judge-free existence.

Mrs. Becker was born July 7, 1907 and died on July 7, 1983 at 7:30 p.m. in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida at Holy Cross Memorial Hospital. She died on her birthday at the age of seventy-seven. On the day of her funeral, I stood there and watched her as she laid in her coffin. I didn't cry, but stood strong. . . .as strong as she had been.

I over-heard her latest ex-husband's remark about how she looked twenty years younger and that it must have been the make-up they put on her. She did look younger but those were not my thoughts of her. His, consisted of what physical beauty he saw. Mine, were memories of her strength, her character and the compassion she always had despite her way of doing things.

I was twenty-eight years old when Mrs. Becker died. She taught me some of the most important lessons a young lady could learn during those five short years. I saw, through her example, how to be a Christian. It took a spirit like hers to break me free from the harsh judgments I placed upon people. I also learned that you can be a friend by accepting people for who they are, despite their weaknesses. Even those that you see on a fast trot through your yard carrying your baby's belongings. No matter what I did or the difficulties I got myself into, she never once criticized or belittled me. She only spoke words that lovingly taught and strengthened. Apparently she must have known her time was short and she had to find a way to bring a family back into her life one more time. Something that she so desperately needed, and that blanket was the focal-point. . . .a representation of it.

I thought about the talks we had. I thought about the way she always stood in front of her screen door each time I left, prompting me to come back soon and when I did I would see her standing tall at her screen door waiting for Ronny and I to arrive. I realized how lonely she had been and how hard both of us struggled to survive the best we could with what little we had.

I smiled and turned away and as I left her I did not look back. Just as I did the day we met, but this time, I took a part of her with me. . . the part that never criticized or allowed a harsh word to come between us, because whatever she did was ok and whatever I did was ok. After all, it was just a matter of judgment.

© Copyright Cheryl Taul
August 26, 2001