Rita Moffat Died

My mom messaged on facebook a couple of days ago. She told me that my uncle thinks I need to see a neurosurgeon because I have some symptoms very similar to my cousins--and their thing is a hereditary thing from our grandma. Then, in the middle of that discussion, she typed this: Rita Moffat died.  That's nothing to anyone who may read this blog. That's not the point.

Rita Moffat--the girl with a mental age of 7 or maybe 8 years old. Shy, very quiet, speech impediment of some sort, incredibly poor, clothes very old and clearly worn out, and overweight.  As if a mental deficiency wasn't enough, she was overweight. 

Bear with me.

I knew Rita for about 3 years. Three school years. In the entire scheme of life, three school years is nothing, barely a blip.  For poor Rita, every school year must have been an eternity.

She was the butt of too many jokes for the reasons I listed above. I remember watching and seeing that no one seemed to recognize her as a human being. Our small school had several of those, but Rita especially caught my eye.  And my pity. 

Then, one day, stuff fell out of her locker. People walked by like it was a non-event.  And to them that's exactly what it was because they had failed to notice that, for all of her issues, she was a human being. But in that moment, she looked lost. And my pity changed. I stopped and helped her.  It was one moment.

I didn't know what that moment meant to her.  It didn't occur to me that she should have been passed by or mocked.  In that moment, she was a girl who needed a friend.  

This is not an epistle about how great I am.  I am nothing. I am, and I have always been, that temp from Chiswick. But that day I was the most fabulous person in the universe.  From then on, she would give me little waves in the hallway.  I could see she hoped I wouldn't ignore her now that the crisis was over.  I didn't. I waved. I smiled.  

And then, one day after school, I was heading out the door to walk home and she was on her bus.  I saw her. And she smiled at me.  That was the first time I'd ever seen Rita Moffat smile. And she smiled at me.  

I only knew her three years. After 9th grade, I changed schools and I never saw Rita again. I thought of her often. I hoped she was okay. I hoped someone else had bothered to notice she was a real live human being, but I don't know.

And in the end, her eulogy is mine. "She always ask[ed] about you because you would talk to her and be friendly" Mom typed. Oh, Lord, I hope I wasn't the only one who was that person for her. I hope someone else came along.
But there are thousands of Rita Moffats surrounding us every day. Think. Can you see their humanity? Can you care for just a moment?