Panhandle Daze

Found myself wandering with baby in tow, north of the Panhandle, then through the Panhandle--soaking up the sun on what might well be the last warm day of the year--not heading in any particular direction. Somewhere in the NoPA area, maybe near Broderick and Grove, an elderly woman in a wheelchair, her arm in a sling, her feet in slippers, was slowly inching up the street. She would put her foot down and push forward on it about half a foot, then wait several seconds and try it again. It was painful to watch--a sort of epic journey in ultra-slow motion. I nodded at her and she barely acknowledged my greeting, which gave me the feeling that I ought to do something. "Do you need help?" I asked. She nodded and smiled weakly; then she turned and smiled and cooed at the baby. "Okay, I'll push him forward first, then you," I said, explaining too much in my nervousness. "Yes, the baby first, always the baby" she said with what seemed to be a Russian accent.

The challenge was getting across an intersection. "I'll take the baby across first," I said, and did so, leaving my child on the other side of the street as I raced back for the woman in the wheelchair. Which felt wrong, immediately. Too trusting, too dangerous. I had had to make a split-second decision about how vulnerable I would allow my child to be, and I knew, instantly, that I had made the wrong decision. Not that it was an especially wide or busy street; and nothing happened to him. But no matter. I had crossed a line. At the next intersection, I asked a passer-by, a woman, to take the elderly woman across; she did so without any hesitation.

So much rests on these sudden decisions...I don't want to overdramatize, but it can be wearying sometimes, just thinking about all the quick decisions one has to make throughout the day to prevent a catastrophe from befalling one's child.

But not to dwell on that...for one thing, after dropping off this woman at the entrance of her care facility (it appeared to be a care facility for elderly people with health and mobility issues), I overheard moans passing through one of the high windows of the place--obviously, an elderly person in deep pain. The moans were steady, rapid--like someone completely consumed by his or her pain. I know that I'm just a few decades away (if that much) from the possibility of such an existence. It doesn't make the job of caring for a baby any easier, necessarily; but it does make it seem a whole lot more positive.