Our church is rather large as far as churches go around here, and I always sit in the same place. It seems like everyone has their comfort zone and it is always the same faces week after week. If someone sees me out of context, they think “9 o’clock, three kids, far left, up front”. (There is a whole other post here, but more on that later.) They may not know my name, or the kids’ names, but they feel like they know me, and vice versa.
Across the aisle to my right there is often a woman who attends Mass by herself. She is about my age, but what makes her stand out is that she is always impeccably dressed. Many of her outfits are worthy of a formal wedding in my book. She’s always in heels that are perfectly matched to the dress. Nails are manicured, and often coordinated with the outfit. Her purse and jewelry are always perfectly chosen and her hair and makeup look like she just left a salon. Do you know there are people who change their purse or nail polish daily depending on what they are wearing? Amazing.
I have spoken to this woman twice that I can remember. Once in the bathroom when I complimented her on her dress, and recently she came over and commented on how Alanya and I looked alike. Other than that, I don’t know this woman, just the occasional half smile when you catch someone’s gaze during church, or coming in or out. I’ve often wondered what her story is. What does she do for a living? Does she dress like that every day? She’s always alone, is she single? Or maybe she’s like me and simply married to someone who doesn’t go to church.
On Christmas Eve, Noah sang in the choir, Jason joined us, as well as my sister and her family. I remember feeling warm and happy and blessed that I could be there with so many people I loved. And I remember looking over and seeing this woman, all alone, in the front row. All alone. Even on Christmas Eve when nearly every seat in the church is filled, she still sat alone in her pew. I remember thinking how sad it was. Did she have no one to be with on Christmas? I mentioned it to my mom later and she agreed, how sad. We wondered what her story is. I last saw her around New Years and she was wearing a champagne and gold metallic dress with a matching jacket.
This week her obituary was in the paper. She died a few weeks ago “suddenly at home”. She was a year older than me. She was single with no children. She worked at a bank. She had two sisters that live far away. Even if they hadn’t run her picture, I would have known it was her because it mentioned our church and talked about her love for fashion, shopping and style. She was somebody. I knew her, but not really. We passed each other every week. We prayed a few feet from each other every week. And she’s not here anymore.
I don’t know what happened to her. She was healthy and the newspaper hasn’t had any odd stories about accidental deaths. All I can think about was that she really was as lonely and sad as I thought she was on Christmas Eve. It makes me wish I had said something to her other than “what a lovely dress.” I hope she has found peace.
