An Apology

I am in the middle of writing a note of apology to Marj, a woman in her late 80's who I much admire, for being unsocial - rude??? - to her at the doctor's office yesterday.

I was with Matt who'd had worrying lab results for his weekly blood counts the day before and was there to see his GP about an incapacitating increase in his back pain. Marj was waiting to see the doc that she and I share and smiled broadly when she saw us approaching. "I thought it was you," she said. I answered with a few pleasantries as I settled into my chair and then, "I hope you don't mind, but I'm feeling like being quiet right now. I tend not to like to talk in the morning." Those weren't the exact words, but it was something like that. I smiled as I said it and she continued smiling as broadly as before. I was afraid that she hadn't understood, restated some of what I'd said, then retreated into my private world. I'd had difficulty sleeping the night before and could easily have dozed off in the chair if it had been slightly more comfortable. When Marj was called into the doc's office, I looked up to say "so long," but she'd already turned and was following the nurse with what seemed to be a troubled expression on her face. Later, Matt told me that she'd said "good bye" to me and that I'd ignored her. I suppose that was when my head was down and I was in my own private world.

Marg is the founder of Wildlife Fawn Rescue. She is one of my super heroines. It grieves me to think that I might have caused her to be sad, even momentarily.

I've got the stationary and the scrawled draft of the note of apology on the desk to my side. I'll write it, then walk to the post office. The exercise will do me good.