My mother was a Parkinson’s patient. Her tremors made it difficult to eat, and she was unable to walk.
As she aged, Mom needed to go to doctor appointments more frequently. Fortunately, she lived in the same town where I worked, and I was able to take her to appointments.
Getting Mom to the doctor was a production. I had to take time off of work because the whole affair was time-consuming.
I’d arrive at her apartment in the assisted living center, and help her into her wheelchair. We’d stroll down the long corridors to the parking lot, where I lifted her up and into my vehicle.
Then I would wrestle with her wheelchair until it was folded up and in the back of my Dodge Durango. Next, I’d strap her seatbelt on. This always resulted in Mom’s perfume rubbing off on my suit, which stayed with me the rest of the day.
Mom was a chatty person, and she talked non-stop from the moment I picked her up, throughout her appointments, until I dropped her off back at her apartment.
Mom’s hearing declined, so she tended to talk loudly, especially in waiting rooms. It was impossible to have a quiet, private conversation.
I hate the waiting room. Because it’s called the waiting room, there’s no chance of not waiting. It’s built, designed, and intended for waiting. Why would they take you right away when they’ve got this room all set up?
— Jerry Seinfeld
I remember some days when I loathed the thought of taking my Mom to another appointment because the process was exhausting.
I complained about it to a coworker one day, and she said something life-changing:
Why don’t you use those appointments as a chance to get to know your Mom better?
The suggestion made a lot of sense. I used to bring work-related paperwork to my Mom’s appointments. Other times I’d bring a book, or try to respond to emails on my phone. All of it was futile because Mom wanted to talk.
I would always chat with Mom, but I never thought about using this precious time with her more wisely. Why not take my coworker’s advice, and get to know Mom better?
The invisible woman
It wasn’t long before I found myself in another waiting room with Mom. It was the dentist’s office. But this time I brought no books or paperwork. Instead, I brought questions.
“How did you and Dad meet?” I asked Mom.
“It was on a train in New York. Your father was working on Wall Street and I was a young model at Barbizon,” she began. And for the rest of our visit and the ride home, I listened to the history of my parents.
Thus began a new period in life when I got to know my mother better. I took advantage of the time together at appointments to ask questions and hear her stories.
We spoke about aging. Mom acknowledged the difficulties of growing old, especially for a woman who was once a beautiful, professional model.
When she was young, she turned the heads of young men. “You lose that with wrinkles and aging. People stop paying attention to you,” she once told me.
Her comments echoed an article in The Atlantic by Akiko Busch. An excerpt:
The invisible woman might be the actor no longer offered roles after her 40th birthday, the 50-year-old woman who can’t land a job interview, or the widow who finds her dinner invitations declining with the absence of her husband. She is the woman who finds that she is no longer the object of the male gaze — youth faded, childbearing years behind her, social value diminished. Referring to her anticipated disappearance on her upcoming 50th birthday, the writer Ayelet Waldman said to an interviewer, ‘I have a big personality, and I have a certain level of professional competence, and I’m used to being taken seriously professionally. And suddenly, it’s like I just vanished from the room. And I have to yell so much louder to be seen … I just want to walk down the street and have someone notice that I exist.’
The thing is, Mom was anything but invisible. She never lost her sense of fashion and style, and she was famous for colorful outfits and loads of decadent jewelry. Most of all, her upbeat personality and sense of humor charmed everyone.
Beauty in the mundane
Photographer Anthony Epes wrote an article in Petapixel.com about finding beauty in the mundane. He defines mundane as “the everyday, ordinary, or banal.”
Epes explains that “it’s easy to take amazing shots of amazingly beautiful places. Although we can always do something fresh, or unique or interesting with our subjects, you’re bound to get something awesome with, for example, a great location and a great sky.”
Then Epes adds:
But to create something beautiful, or find beauty in the mundane? That’s a skill that is fantastic to have and one that’s worth developing because it will help your photography as a whole.
The same is true with how we approach the mundane appointments and waiting rooms of life. There is beauty to be found there if we use our time wisely.
Some of the most enjoyable and informative conversations I’ve had occurred in waiting rooms. I remember encouraging a woman in the Veterinarian’s office once, and it led to a wonderful conversation.
Most importantly, it was my mother’s seemingly mundane doctor and dentist appointments that helped me know her better. Sometimes she’d tell stories and our laughter became infectious.
One woman in the waiting room said with a smile, “You two are having a lot more fun than the rest of us.” Soon we roped the woman into our conversation, and she shared a few of her own memories.
We forget the big picture
Most of the people I see in waiting rooms are either glued to their cell phones or mesmerized by the superficial daytime programs on the television.
I used to be embarrassed by Mom’s loud talking in waiting rooms, but I grew to love it as a counterbalance to the TV noise. Also, it showed others that meaningful conversation is a better choice than mindless scrolling on one’s cell phone.
Sometimes you have to disconnect to stay connected. Remember the old days when you had eye contact during a conversation? When everyone wasn’t looking down at a device in their hands? We’ve become so focused on that tiny screen that we forget the big picture, the people right in front of us.
— Regina Brett
“Why don’t people put away their cell phones, shut off the TV, and talk to one another?” I used to think. Everyone is a walking history book, with stories and lessons to offer.
But instead, we languish in silence, denying ourselves the enrichment that strangers with adventures and anecdotes can share. Or we accompany loved ones to appointments and then ignore them as we wait.
There is grace to be found in the mundane. Waiting rooms only hold us captive if we fail to take advantage of the downtime.
What better place than a waiting room to learn more deeply about the ones we love. Or to engage a stranger, and maybe learn a new life lesson.
A partisan for conversation
At the age of 87, my mother’s body finally decided it had enough. The day she died, I was blessed to be with her. Holding her hands. Stroking her hair. Telling her how much she was loved. She slipped away peacefully.
Thank God I listened to my coworker’s advice and used all those doctor and dentist appointments to get to know my mother better. Now I have so many cherished stories and memories.
Of course, good conversation is available outside of mundane appointments. It’s just a matter of making room for them.
I am a partisan for conversation. To make room for it, I see some first, deliberate steps. At home, we can create sacred spaces: the kitchen, the dining room. We can make our cars ‘device-free zones.’ We can demonstrate the value of conversation to our children. And we can do the same thing at work.
— Sherry Turkle
There is grace to be found in those mundane appointments and waiting rooms. Take advantage of the opportunity.
If you’re with a loved one, ask questions and then listen intently. If you engage a stranger, do the same thing.
You might just discover a little bit of magic, make some new memories, and be forever thankful that you spent your time so wisely.
Before you go
I’m John P. Weiss. I draw cartoons, paint, write, and shoot black and white photography. To follow along, join my free Saturday Newsletter here.
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This post was previously published on Medium.
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