This morning I went into Brueggers to pick up some bagels and a sandwich for an early lunch. Clara and I sat down at a table. I soon noticed that at the table across from us was a middle-aged woman and an elderly man whom I took to be her father. The man was talking extremely loudly, and the woman wasn't saying a word. As I listened to this very one-sided conversation (the man more than made up for the woman's missing volume) I soon realized that he must have gone deaf relatively late in life, because she communicated to him by writing things down in a small notebook and passing them across the table. He would then read her writing, and then speak back to her.
The conversation involved just a father asking his daughter about the little details of her life. It was nothing very fascinating, and yet I couldn't help but listen because for one, Clara is not yet a very good conversationalist, and also, it was a bit of a puzzle to figure out what the woman had communicated to him from what he said. It was also interesting how painstaking it was for them to communicate in this manner.
Something about the entire interaction brought tears to my eyes. It made me think of family and different kinds of love. It made me imagine times I will share a meal with my mother and father as they age, and also a far-off day when Clara will have lunch with me in my old age. I hope she shows me as much patience.
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