We had our annual Walk to End
Alzheimer’s fundraising “Traffic Stop” on Labor Day. As usual, the day had its
busy times and its lulls. Our collections depend on the traffic building up at
the stop sign in my hometown.
We took our positions along the road
with our collection buckets. My granddaughter entertained with her purple flag.
She threw it in the air and after it whirled around, she caught it, whipping
into a pose. Several people applauded, others cheered, and some commented on
how impressive she was.
“You are helping my collections,” I
told her. I commented on her poses after she caught it.
“I’m not showing off,” she said. “I
went down on my knee because that’s how I was able to catch the flag.” She
laughed and tossed it high. “If I wanted to show off,” she said, “I would do
this.” She caught the flag and did the splits.
This year, the city police officer
decided to direct traffic—to avoid the backlog. This has only happened a couple
of times in the 21 years we’ve collected. As the traffic approached us, the
officer stood in the intersection, gesturing for the cars to keep moving.
One lady stopped in front of me,
ignoring the urgency of the officer. She dropped a donation into the container
I held out for her. With tears welling up in her eyes, she said, “My husband
died from Alzheimer’s about this time last year.”
With those few words, we connected.
“I’m so sorry. I lost my husband to dementia too,” I said. She paused a moment,
as if she had much more to say but couldn’t find the words. Then she drove
through the intersection.
“He isn’t doing us any favors,” I
told my sister. “It’s a little hard to collect when the traffic is whizzing
by.” At least he wasn’t there all the time. He would leave and return
periodically.
Car after car ignored the
opportunity to go through the intersection as they paused to give us
collections and share their stories. My granddaughter said, “The officer
underestimated the generosity of people.”
The cool morning turned into a warm
afternoon. We had mini-conversations with the donors. One woman handed me a $20
bill. “This is to honor my mom and my grandma. They both have Alzheimer’s.”
After each donation, I said, “Thank
you, have a safe trip home.” Several people automatically said, “You too.” Some
of them seemed to hesitate as they realized they had wished me a safe trip. One
lady seemed particularly frustrated that she had said it. I laughed. “Everyone
says the same thing,” I assured her.
One man told me, “I don’t have any
money, but I’m going to the bank. I’ll be back,” he promised.
The day wore on. I heard stories
about moms, dads, sisters, brothers, and friends who were living with dementia
or had died with it.
The officer had left the
intersection and we saw his car on a side street. We assumed he was keeping an
eye on the traffic from the comfort of his car rather than standing in the
middle of a hot street. We heard a siren. He pulled a car over in front of
where my daughter-in-law Stacey was collecting. After he finished writing the ticket
and walked back to his patrol car, I saw a hand come out the window to give
Stacey a donation.
The afternoon sun was beating
mercilessly down on us, so we began to gather up the signs and pinwheels. A car
drove onto the side street behind us and handed Stacey a $20 bill.
After he drove off, she turned to me
and said, “That man told me he had to go to the bank.”
“He told me the same thing! I never
really thought he meant it,” I said.
I guess you just can’t underestimate
the generosity of people.
Copyright © September 2019 by L.S.
Fisher
#ENDALZ
