I sat down next to him.  Rittenhouse Square, lovely little city park in the middle of Philadelphia.

Cold December day. A break from all the doing. Needed a park bench to just sit and be.

Old man, nicely dressed.  A peaceful sadness about him, looked like he’d been sitting there for a while and had no plans to get up, lots of space on the bench next to him.

I sat down.

We both sat and looked out, watched people waiting for their friends, meeting each other by the fountain in the center of the square, warmly greeting, laughing, walking away together.

Robust, constantly moving stream of purposeful-looking people walking by, on their way to a busy somewhere.

I relaxed and sat, just watching, enjoying all the people around me. So nice to feel like I didn’t have to do anything, could just sit and look out.

I was also enjoying the company of the man next to me, feeling his presence and enjoying the humanity it made me feel. I could feel him looking out and watching too.

Without turning his head, he spoke. “Why does everyone walk so fast?”

I gave it some thought, and simply said, “Good question.”

That satisfied him, and he nodded.

Companionable silence.

Then he: “What is on their phones that they keep looking at them?”

I wondered if he owned a cell phone.  I watched everyone in the Square for a moment. Everyone who was standing and waiting for someone was checking their phone. Even the people walking by were often checking their phones.  

I thought about it, and told him, “Another good question.”

Head nod, satisfied.

After a little peaceful silence, he quietly said, “They don’t look up anymore. They don’t look at faces. They’re not seeing any of the decorations.”

I turned my head to look at his face. I said, “Too true.” He turned his head to look at me and smiled. I smiled too.

We went back to watching people. Somehow connected.

I don’t know what made me ask, I somehow knew it was. “Is Rittenhouse Square a special place for you?”

He, a little laugh, a big sigh, said, “Very special.”

Long silence. Then, “My wife and I took walks around the Square every day. But we didn’t march like these people. We strolled. We talked. We looked at everything. We enjoyed seeing it all. especially this time of year.”

I was very touched. “That sounds very special. Married a long time?”

“53 years.”

Me: “That’s a lot of strolls.”

Smile from him, “Yes, a lot of strolls.” Silence as he pondered. Quietly, but with tremendous feeling, “A lot of strolls.”

I didn’t ask, I knew she was gone, I didn’t want to open up a wound.

Peaceful silence.

He said, “I miss her every day.”

I thought about his strolling with a woman he loved every day for 53 years and bit my lip to keep from crying. Didn’t help.

I waited until it subsided and simply offered, “I can understand. I can imagine you had a beautiful marriage.”

He smiled, “We got along. I was a really lucky guy. She was something else. Everyone wanted to marry her. No idea why she chose me but I always felt like luckiest guy in the world. We never argued. Three kids. Good kids. Now I have grandkids. I love them all.”

Tears coming one after the other down my face, no tissue to wipe them, I used my sleeve.

“Thank you for telling me, that’s beautiful.”

He smiled.

We sat peacefully, looking out.

The smile stayed on his face.

He turned to me, like an old friend who doesn’t want to go, he said almost reluctantly, “They’re waiting for me, I need to go. Will you be back?”

“I’m only here for the holidays, but while I’m here, I come back a lot. Maybe I’ll see you.”

“I would like that.” Smile. “You remind me of her. She cried really easy too.”

That set me to blubbering all over again.

He smiled. “Next time we can stroll around the park.”

“I would like that.”

He sat and looked out a little longer until I stopped crying. Somehow this little conversation had brightened him up. He didn’t seem so sad.

And as I stopped crying, I was filled with the happiness of knowing a man who loved to stroll every day with his wife, and could do it again, and again, and again, for 53 years. I couldn’t help it, I started smiling.

He saw that, stood up and smiling too looked into my eyes, his were old, kind eyes. I was filled with an inner peace, and I could see he was also.

He said, “It was nice talking to you.”

“It was nice talking to you too.”

“See you.”

“See you.”

I get home. I’m asked, “How was your walk?”

“It was really good. It was more like a stroll.”

“That’s nice. Where did you go?”

“Rittenhouse Square.”

“I love that place.”

“Come with me tomorrow.”

“I would love to. And there’s a nice place right on the Square where we can have tea. Great place to watch people, and everyone is dressed up this time of year.”

“Perfect. There’s a really nice old man who might be there also. I think you’ll really like him. He came to the Square every day with his wife, they strolled around the square every day, for 53 years.”

“She’s gone?”

“She’s gone.”

“I think I’ve seen them. They were always dressed up really nice. And she always took his arm. They were always talking to each other. They look like they really cared about each other a lot. … So sorry she’s gone.”

“Yeah, me too. But he has wonderful children and grandchildren that make him happy.”

“That’s always a blessing. Well, let’s go tomorrow. I hope he’s there. He sounds nice.”

“Perfect. Me too.”

Love,

Ingrid