“Tell them…” she told me
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Sean of the South
Sean Dietrich
Washington, North Carolina. She was small. White hair. A slow, shuffling gait. She wore Velcro shoes.
She was 94. She came through the meet-and-greet line after my one-man shipwreck. She waited her turn patiently, while I ran my mouth, signed books, and kissed babies.
When it was her turn, we embraced. She spoke in a quiet tone. I leaned inward, straining to hear her whispery voice over the murmuring crowd that mingled in the lobby.
The message was short. But important. A message she had waited 94 years to learn. Of course, at the time I had no idea she was delivering a message at all. At first, I just thought I was meeting a sweet, beautiful 94-year-old woman.
“Tell the people,” she said in a whisper.
I smiled. “Ma’am?”
“Tell them,” she said.
She was weak on her feet, holding my belt with both hands for support. But smiling at me.
I returned fire with my most polite smile. I leaned in even closer.
“Tell them?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What should I tell them? And who am I supposed to tell?”
She pulled me closer. “Tell your loved ones how much you love them.”
There were tears in her little eyes.
“And don’t just tell them,” she added. “Show them. Show them how much you love them.”
“Show them?”
“Don’t ever miss a moment to show them love. Give all your love away. Until you’re empty. This is the only reason we are here. And we’re not here nearly long enough.”
Her words were brief, but something in the delivery touched me. She was still clasping my belt for balance.
“Do you understand?” she said.
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I think I do.”
“Tell them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I dabbed an eye. “I will.”
“Show them.”
I blew my nose loudly. “I will, ma’am. I will try.”
“Good,” she gave a broad smile. “Now, have a great rest of your life.”
Whoever you are, reading this, I love you.
