Lillian Daniel - Tired of Apologizing for a Church I Dont Belong To: Spirituality without Stereotypes, Religion without Ranting

W HEN A STRANGER STARTED TALKING to me in the long checkout line at Marshalls, I welcomed the distraction. We commiserated about the inefficiencies of the system and both swore we wouldnt be coming back to this store again. In other words, we exchanged pleasantries and lied to each other.

But as the time passed, both of us standing there with nothing to do, he started to talk about real things. It was one of those strangely intimate meetings. He wanted to talk, I was ready to listen, and the lady in front of us was processing a massive return from an earlier bad shopping day.

Before we started talking, I had noticed that he was wearing a turban, a sign of Sikh religion. But we werent talking about religion, thank God. Standing in line in the suburbs of Chicago, he told me he had been raised in India, moved to Chicago as an adult, but now most of his family lived in London. That included his favorite elderly aunt, a woman who was dearer to him than any living relative. Now she was dying, across the ocean in London, and he was trying to figure out whether to purchase an incredibly expensive airline ticket right away so that he could go to his aunts dying bedside before she passed away, or whether he should wait and fly to London later, for her inevitable funeral.

What would you do? he asked me with a catch in his throat.

His emotion and openness startled me, so I deflected by asking more questions, heading straight to the land of logistics, where I was more comfortable. Could he make two trips? What were the familys expectations? Was his aunt alone or did she have others by her side? Had he heard about the various discount air travel websites? Why not make both trips? What exactly was his financial situation?

Well, Im shopping at Marshalls! he replied, and that made us both laugh. He knew he could not afford to go to London twice. He could barely afford to go once. Last-minute airline travel is expensive. Like most people, he was on a budget, hence his presence at an understaffed discount store. He had to make a choice.

Should he break the bank to buy the last-minute ticket that would get him to her dying bedside in twenty-four hours and say good-bye to his aunt in person? Or should he save the money and plan ahead, to go to London for the funeral, when the rest of the family would be there? He was really wrestling with this, trying to make a decision.

Once I realized I couldnt solve his problem with obvious answers and travel tips, we talked more deeply. Knowing he could make only one trip, he was leaning toward making the trip the next day, to be in her presence, despite the enormous expense. I told him about all the times I had visited my mother when she was dying, when it felt like I was using the airplane like a bus, racking up credit card bills, never knowing if this visit would be the last. At least she and I had been in the same country. His situation was harder. But I told him I was glad I had gone.

Then, in the interest of honesty, I felt I should tell him about the other times when I had chosen not to do something. Looking back, there were plenty of things I had missedweddings, funerals, celebrations, crisesall for good reasons like money, work, and family. Even though I had my sensible reasons for missing those things, when I look back today, I cant remember what exactly they were. Whatever the reasons, they werent important enough to withstand the test of time.

What I do recall are the feelings of regret that remain with me to this day. Work deadlines and family sports schedules that seemed so urgent at the time fade, but those big things are the bright lights that stay turned on in our memories and remind us we were alive. I should have gone to most of them. He nodded as if he had been right there with me, and said, I want to see my aunt while she is still alive. I want to remember.

Suddenly a flashing light above the cashiers head broke our connection. I can help you down here at number five, sir, she called, and with that, we were separated, he to his payment station and me to mine. It seemed too abrupt but we moved as instructed. My cart was full of items that looked unfamiliar to me. Why did I think I needed these things? They were useless, cold, and plastic. I was having trouble remembering why I thought I needed them in the first place. As I picked up my receipt, I knew it was time to leave, but I didnt want to go without saying something to this man whose story hung between us. As he collected his receipt, I tapped his shoulder and said, Hey, Im going to pray for you, and for your aunt.

I wish I could tell you that his eyes lit up with joy at our powerful connection but it was quite different. He pulled back almost in horror, and backed away from me. I felt terrible, as if I had poisoned this beautiful moment. But what poisoned it? I knew it was my announcement that I would pray for him. I was mad at myself. I had to introduce that religion thing, right?