Good Samaritan

My sister, Barb, is a natural-born caregiver. She stayed with our grandmother who suffered with Alzheimer’s, sat vigil at her husband’s side when he battled leukemia and has cared for every single member of her family at one time or another, including their pets.

Her giving didn’t stop there. She always had her eyes open for someone in need. One August, at the Mt. Hood Jazz Festival, we had just bought lunch. With the crowds, seats were scarce. A table with an umbrella would be great on such a scorching day. A spot finally opened up, but as soon as we’d settled ourselves, my sister frowned and stood up.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m worried about that couple over there.”

“They’re probably fine,” I said. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“No, I’ll be right back.”

I watched her guide the elderly pair, flushed and disoriented, to our table. She gently lowered them into chairs and offered them her water, then cut her sandwich in half and slid the plate in front of them. “We don’t want to take your food,” they protested, but Barb insisted.

After they ate and drank, they explained that the heat and crowds had left them feeling faint and confused. “You were so kind to help us,” the woman said, patting Barb’s arm.

I shifted in my seat, feeling a bit guilty. While I was intent on getting a seat and enjoying my lunch, Barb was zeroing in on someone who needed help.