Walking Her Home

Remember walking someone home?

It is a sweet old concept that you don’t hear much anymore. Now we drive, drop off on our way, or catch a lift.

Walking someone home was a softer, gentler activity. First of all, you walked, so the pace of the leave-taking was slower. When you got to their home, you left your companion and make the return trip alone, giving you time to reflect. There weren’t cell phones, so the walk back wasn’t disturbed. You thought about your friend, of things you’d both said, and things you wanted to say when you met again.

When I was young, I walked people home frequently. Many times it was my brothers and sisters and I was picking them up from a ball game or swimming lesson, or a friend’s house. Picking up isn’t the same as walking home. I had to pick up my siblings to keep them safe and make sure they didn’t get distracted and end up at a friend’s house or stop to play in the park. Walking someone home is a choice, and in a way, a silly one. Because, after dropping off your friend, you had to walk home alone.

The walks I remember best were with my friends. They would come to my house after school, and when it got close to supper time I would walk them home.

Because these walks were the end of our visit, we dragged our feet. We didn’t want the afternoon to end and be forced to go on to our homework and chores and the like.

I remember walking my friend Mary home. She used to live a few blocks away from me but had moved across town. I would usually walk her half way home. Looking back on it now I think we argued a lot on our walks. I think we didn’t want the day to end, and the arguing gave us an excuse to stand on a streetcorner half way between where we’d been and where we were going and postpone the goodbyes.

I thought of this recently when my sister-in-law’s mother passed. Leane’s mom wasn’t an easy person and theirs wasn’t an easy relationship. But I watched Leane care for her mother during her long last illness. Sometimes she would be understandably frustrated and angry at her mother. It seemed like whatever she did wasn’t enough for her mother and they argued, or they sat in silence.

And, at the end, she never left her mother’s side. That’s when I had the image.

Leane had walked her mother home. Their time together was over, and they knew it. They’d fought on the streetcorner, not wanting it to end. And finally, they had to part.

Now, and for awhile, Leane will be walking alone and reflecting on her mom, on their relationship, and remembering things she wanted to say.

But always she will be able to remember that in the end, she gave her mother that sweet, loving gift. She walked her home.