We Were Summoned

Lynn Ingram McFarland with Mom Judy Litchfield

A week ago today, my mom and I had an experience that I want to share with you. Due to the Coronavirus and mounting civil unrest due to the death of George Floyd and other African Americans at the hands of law enforcement, we were feeling uneasy. I was driving us to a family BBQ. Mom had packed ice cream bars for dessert wrapped in ice packs and newspaper. This was the first family gathering in months due to the stay-at-home order. We were so excited! The air conditioning in my Kia was not working and it was a warm 70-degree afternoon so the plan was to get the ice cream to the freezer at my sister’s house as soon as we could. Six minutes into our thirty-minute drive we slowed to a crawl behind a car that was swerving gently back and forth in the lane. I thought the person might be texting, distracted, or possibly drunk, so I kept my eye on the car only to watch it quickly swerve across the yellow center line toward the opposite curb. My first reaction was to honk the horn, and not just a little “beep,” but a longer warning honk. It worked. The driver immediately corrected the car back into the eastbound lane, and parallel parked at the curb. 

We slowed to see who the driver was. Mom yelled out the open window into the driver’s open window, “Are you okay?” 

An African American woman responded, “Yes, I’m fine”, waved us off, and put her head in her hands. Clearly, she was not fine. I did not hesitate. I pulled over in front of her car, put my car in park and walked to the driver’s side window to see what was going on. The lady seemed to be having some sort of medical issue so I asked her if she had diabetes and if she had any sugar with her, to which she replied, yes, she did have diabetes and she was trying to eat. There was something else though, a look in her eyes, the way she was speaking so low, defeated. In my business with maternal mental health, my steadfast tenants are to look at her, see her, listen without judgement, and look behind the mask of ‘I’m fine’. I didn’t think about the Coronavirus or social distancing because that’s not what she needed at this point, she needed a hand on her shoulder and a calm voice telling her that help was on the way. 

Within a couple of minutes, mom was out of the car and by my side, also asking questions, touching the driver’s shoulder, listening and validating her story of being duped by a friend whom she had nursed back to health, about her children, and other topics she floated in and out of in her 41 years of life. In her hazy state, her speech was hard to understand, and her stories mixed together, but at least she was conscious and willing to talk with us, two white strangers. She admitted she could not drive anymore in her condition and turned the engine off, pulled the keys out of the ignition and put them on the passenger side front seat. More than once she told us she didn’t want to keep us from where we were going, to which we responded, it’s not important right now. You, stranger, are important right now. All the hype of being with family, of having a fun afternoon ahead of us, and a thirty-minute drive in a hot car with ice cream just went by the wayside. 

Upon further conversation, the driver felt safe enough to admit that she just wanted to ‘end it.’ Always look behind the mask of “I’m fine.” I told her she was not ending it on my watch. Period. 

I called the police non-emergency number and the local county health crisis line because at this point we still weren’t sure if her issue was medical or if she was having a mental health crisis, it seemed to me she was having both. We offered her a ride home or an Uber ride, but she said she couldn’t go home and that there was no one for us to call. I offered to take mom back to my house or have my husband pick her up so she could continue to the family BBQ, but she immediately said, “No. I will wait.” Those three words are the epitome of showing up for one another in times of need and I saw my mom put her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder and say, “It’s okay, we all need help sometimes.” We can buy more ice cream. 

In this current climate of police brutality against African Americans, I must admit, I was a little nervous when the police cruiser with two white cops pulled up behind her car. I wondered if she would be scared, maybe even upset that I called them to the scene…she seemed grateful. The male officer came toward us. At this very moment, I felt like I had to be her protector in case this officer did not handle this well. I’m upset that it was my first thought. Mom and I stood by her driver side window still talking to her as he asked us to move to the sidewalk and relay our story to the female officer. The woman made a point to thank us for stopping. The police officers were top notch, professional and friendly. We felt safe leaving her under their care. Mom and I got back in our car and drove away. I heard the police officer calling for a medic, and I knew she would get the help she needed. 

Maybe we saved a life that day. We showed up when summoned.

Maybe, perhaps, she was an angel who brought out the best in who we claim to be. We can say  that we help others in need, we can say that we’re not racist, we can say that we are Christians, and we can say that we support people of color, but when the rubber meets the road, how do we choose to act? 

We saw you.

We heard you.

We protected you. 

Without hesitation, you became our priority.

p.s. I am grateful for our family who understood and accepted that we showed up late because of doing the right thing. They in turn wanted to hear and listen to our story.  My sister said, “Lynn! God sent you two to her”, and I knew in that moment that no further explanation was necessary. 

p.p.s. The ice cream survived. 

www.ingramscreening.com