The Facilitator

The cottage held so many memories for Ann. As she put the water in the kettle and turned it on, she thought of the good times she had spent here with her husband Alfred and her children Sara and Albert.  Now, thirty-five years later, she found herself alone. The children had followed their career path to different cities, and she had lost Alfred five years ago to cancer. She missed his presence and companionship immensely through numerous moments in the day. The click of the kettle took her out of her reverie, and she took out the tea box and scooped a teaspoon of Earl Grey in the teapot and poured hot water and put the lid back to let it brew. She recalled how on most evenings, Alfred and she would take their tea and walk to the edge of the garden and cross over the walking path to sit on the bench overlooking the ocean. They would enjoy the fresh air, the gentle breeze, the shrubs, the grass, the sound of the waves and the rolling of the clouds in the sky. As people walked by, they would smile and greet them.

There was something special about this bench and it had become a companion to Alfred and her in the evenings. Now, with Alfred gone, the bench had become her silent companion. She had continued to come here with her tea, and an hour of this daily therapy worked like magic for her. Lately, she had been noticing a man, probably in his sixties, who would walk slowly up the path and as he would approach the bench, he would bow to acknowledge her and continue to walk. Ann had never seen him before. She wondered, “Is he new to this neighbourhood?” As he would walk by, his eyes would be bent on the path before him. He walked with a steady gait and appeared to be in his own world.

Before she could figure out the answer to her question, Ann got the flu and was confined to her cottage. She gazed forlornly at the bench from her window. It took two weeks for her to feel her normal energy and the first thing she did was to take her evening tea and walk the short distance to the bench. ‘Wow! Does the fresh air feel so good?’ she thought to herself. As she sat down on the old wooden bench, it creaked gently as if it were happy to see Ann. She felt the comfort of familiarity and felt the balmy breeze kiss her cheeks.  A while later, she noticed the same man walking up the path. This time, he stopped and greeted her. Then hesitatingly said, “I am Steven and have recently moved to the village. I have not seen you for two weeks and I hope you are doing well.”

His kind and caring voice made Ann respond to him in detail. She introduced herself and said, “I was ill with the flu and I did not think anyone would notice if I am not here”.

Steve responded, ‘I have noticed you every day and have wanted to talk to you but did not want to intrude on your privacy. I am glad that you are feeling well now.’ Then he continued on his way.

The next evening, she saw Steve on the path, and she was surprised to see him holding a cup in his right hand. As he came up to her, he asked if he could join her on the bench. Holding her cup of tea, she slowly looked around and the sky, the waves, the grass and the shrubs all smiled at her in their myriad ways and she nodded in response to Steven. But it was the bench that was the happiest as it had felt Ann’s sorrow and loneliness and was delighted to be the facilitator of bringing two people together for companionship.