When the bus gets to the mall where everyone must get off she struggles to stand up and fails, five times. The bus driver watches in his mirror, unsure if he should offer to assist her. On the sixth attempt, she is successful and trundles her way into the mall. Once she is inside, she sits down on a wide bench to rest and takes her phone out again. Griselda may be in her mid-sixties or older.

That’s my guess and I have seen her make this trip several times. It must be like mountain climbing for her but she continues, even in the winter when she drapes her coat on her walker and her running shoes are soaked, she persists. I’d like to know where she goes and I can’t find out unless I accost her; but, I’m too polite, too Canadian, to do that. I hope she continues her obstinate ways and survives. 

Celia is a short, extremely slender Asian woman, she only comes up to my shoulder and I am barely five foot two or perhaps less because I am slowly shrinking as I age. It is a hot afternoon, about 85 Fahrenheit, but she wears a light quilted jacket and stands in the sun by the bus shelter. It turns out we are waiting for the same bus. “I saw you in that fancy coffee place with all those young people,” she says.

I nod.

“Good for you! Now we are old, we should do these things and not worry about what people think or about how we look. Don’t wait. Children are always busy, so …”

“Yes, that’s true,” I say. I’m not charmed to be called old, although it’s accurate.

“You should travel,” she says. “I would, if I didn’t have to go for treatment so often.”

I don’t ask her what she is being treated for. That might be rude and I don’t know her. I wait in case she wants to say more.

“They tell me chemo might work, so I take it,” she shrugs.

“I hope it will.”

“I don’t believe them but … maybe … who knows.”

“Maybe you’ll be lucky,” I say, and then I regret my inane response.

She smiles, forgiving me as the bus arrives.

There are many more women who are older warriors. I hope I’ll meet and recognize more of them. Perhaps some day I may become one. I see it as an honorable estate.

©2019 Diane Girard for SeniorWomen.com

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