The Fifth Commandment

Once you start noticing them, you see them everywhere: pairs of ladies a generation apart, wandering through Target or Boscov's or the grocery store. The one walking ahead is in her fifties, dressed in what's called sportswear (but has nothing to do with athletics). She's looking for something; she has a list. The one tagging along more slowly in the back bears some resemblance to her but has stopped coloring her hair, which has gone white. She isn't looking for anything, just peering around contentedly as she holds onto her handbag.

When I see them, I think of my mother and my grandmother, who were such a pair until my grandmother passed away a year ago. They went everywhere together. My grandmother had given up driving, but my mother wanted to keep her life as active as it had always been for her. They talked every morning at 9:00 a.m.--once in a while, when I was home visiting, I'd make the call and would sometimes call at 9:01 or 9:02, and she'd answer the phone, "You're late!" They went grocery shopping every week, and it was a whole-day affair, involving lunch, a trip to the butcher, a stop at the bakery, a visit to the pharmacy, and the occasional manicure.

Now when I stop in somewhere and see these little pairs of ladies, I think of how good they're being to each other, however irritated they may be in the moment. I once saw a middle-aged woman, frustrated, holding her keys, and muttering, "Where is she--she always wanders off!" I looked around, expecting to see a sullen teenager somewhere in the vicinity, but then I heard the woman say, "Mom! We're over here!" They are taking care of each other, and it reminds me of the countless unremarked ways my mother's generation has looked out for their families.