She stood me up. I didn’t get too worked up about it, because it meant I would have some free time to do things I thoroughly enjoy. She had insisted we meet at Agua Caliente Park at 9 a.m., and it was almost an hour after that. She wasn’t responding to texts, so I just sat in the park and enjoyed the day.
I watched a roadrunner with a gecko in its beak strut down the concrete path like it owned the place. A couple squirrels chased each other, oblivious to a German Shepherd straining at its leash as its owner trotted by. Shaggy palm trees in desperate need of a trim stood watch over the moss-covered pond. It was wonderfully peaceful.
An elderly man moved slowly down the path toward me, leaning hard on a wooden cane. He looked up as he approached, smiled, and said, “Good day, sir! Would you mind terribly if I joined you on your bench?”
“I’d be honored, and for the record, it’s not really my bench.” I smiled back and moved over to give him room.
It took him a bit to situate himself. Eventually he turned toward me and asked, “So, what brings you to this beautiful place today?”
“Well, I was supposed to meet someone, but they haven’t shown, so I'm enjoying the morning and the fact that I get to just goof off for a while. How about you?”
He paused for a moment, and his voice turned a bit husky. “I suppose I'm evading responsibility as well. My wife has dementia, and I try to care for her, but sometimes I just need to get away. The neighbor lady comes and sits with her, and I get to escape.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“I make it sound like she’s a burden, and I don’t mean to convey that message,” he continued. “She’s the love of my life, and I’m privileged to care for her. We’ve been married 62 years, and God knows she has always cared for me. I can’t imagine life without her. What is so hard is that she doesn’t even know who I am anymore. There is no recognition. I’m just another caregiver to her.”
My voice got a little teary, too. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Look at me. Here I am burdening you with my troubles and spoiling your morning joy.”
“Please don’t apologize. It’s an honor to listen. I hope your time here allows you to find some rest.”
More silence.
He changed the subject. “You said you got stood up. I hate when that happens. Doesn’t it grate on you when people do that? It’s so inconsiderate.”
“Actually I’m kind of strange, I suppose, but I enjoy it. I get a bit of free time to do as I please. But, you’re right, it is rather rude.”
My phone took that opportunity to buzz. “Excuse me,” I apologized. “This is the young woman who stood me up.”
I answered. Lots of gushing apologies. “I totally spaced it. So, so sorry. I’ll talk to you later and see when we can reschedule.”
“No problem. You’re forgiven. I’ll chat with you later. Bye.”
He had eavesdropped.
“My wife has stood me up, I think,” he said. “It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not fair. But you’re right. There’s really nothing you can do about it. So I might as well enjoy the day and forgive her. Thanks for the lesson.”
“You’re welcome.”
He looked at me in earnest. “It’s an audacious ask, but maybe we could meet here again next week—that is, if you’re not too busy?”
“I’d love to! Same time and place?”
He nodded. We parted ways.
The next week I got stood up.
About the Author
Rod Hugen is a retired co-founder of the Village Church in Tucson, Ariz., and disciples and mentors young pastors and leaders on behalf of Classis Arizona. He is author of Parallels: a Lenten Devotional.
