I walked along the sidewalk that day feeling a nervousness I had never felt before. This old woman- that I had met barely a week ago-was about to receive some of the worst news of her aged life.
How was I going to tell this to her? Why had they sent me (a rookie!) to tell her? What about someone with experience? I felt like I would cry for this old woman and I knew little more than her name!
I looked up from the street then. The atmosphere was perfect for today; raining and cold. Not freezing, but just enough to make you feel that you should go inside and make something warm to drink.
Then I saw her. Sitting outside a little café by herself with a pot of what appeared to be tea. When she saw me, her eyes lit up and I wanted to run away.
She had a face that you couldn't stand to disappoint, eyes that could look into your very soul. They (her eyes) were the darkest brown I had ever seen-close to black. They weren't cold, but warm. As if looking into them wrapped you up in soft black velvet. It was impossible to keep a secret.
I couldn't tell her. How would I? How could I tell her that her husband, a well-respected military man(The James Kedman!)had been abducted and tortured by terrorists and left to die in a country I couldn't tell her the name of? Why hadn't they sent someone else? Why not one of the ladies with more experience? Or one of the men?
This was it. It had to be me. The space between us was closing and there was no way out for me. I looked down at the sidewalk as I approached her.
"Mrs. Kedman? Um, m-ma'am? I, um..." Get it together!
She looked up then, her warm eyes full of hope and said,
"Why, hello dear. Would you care for some tea? I hope you've brought me some news about my husband"
This was going to be hard. It took all my strength to look up from that sidewalk. I took a deep breath and looked up into her dark eyes.
