Aunt Paula's eyeglasses

I continued to tap my foot on the plush carpet in front of the small bank of  hotel lobby elevators and clutched the paper bag that contained my tuna fish sandwich.  On the wall in front of me, between elevators number three and four, columns of embossed numbers  blinked red then white to show the location of each car.  The strong fishy smell from the sandwich  began to make my mouth water but  I was sure that Billie would be  satisfied with the Mug root beer and cheddar cheese & onion potato chips I  bought for her.

A clear crisp jingle woke me from my musings and I noticed the letter "L" above elevator number four was now red as the heavy doors to the car whisked open.  Once inside I pressed floor number eight on the wall panel and  began to think of my Aunt Paula.

I had just got in the habit of calling her Aunt Paula  instead Sister Paula when she passed gently into God's hand last December.  She served the Catholic church as a nun/teacher/and sometimes as a counsellor for more than half a century.  Not only was it her vow, but also her joy to help others while always maintaining a life of simple means  for herself.  I remembered the many times she would use the money her brothers forced into her hands  to purchase flowers for the chapel alter, or  to pass  on to a  parishoner in need, or to simply drop in a poor box.  She was the embodiment of charity.  

 Someone once said "the world can't be hell, there are countless saints among us. We just don't know their names yet."

Well I did know one and her name was Paula.

Aunt Paula also carried on a correspondence with her cousin, Mary who lived in the county of Clare in Ireland.  Mary's letters to Aunt Paula described her life and family and even her desire to come to America.  Every year, Mary would send her cousin a cluster of Shamrocks packed in an empty  cardboard container                           of milk to help celebrate St. Patrick's day.  Aunt Paula gave her cousin what little she had--her prayers.  Each of them longed to meet the other and visit , however brief.  They just fancied "maybe one day. . . " But those days turned into months, then those months became years and on and on and on.  Sadly, they never met each other.  Mary's dream was snubbed out by her demanding husband who forbade any such trip deeming it as foolhardy.  Knowing this, aunt Paula, chose to pass the money she had inherited on to her nephews so they could one day realize her dream of going to the land of her father's birth.
A soft "bing" echoed and the elevator door swooshed open to my floor.  My room, number 818 was down the hall just past the big ice machine.  When I slid the magnetic card into the opening below the doorknob, I heard muffled voices from inside the room.  I entered to see Billie snapping pictures of Evan, my cousin Michael's son.  As I walked closer I noticed Michael was taking pictures of Billie taking pictures of Evan.  It was evident all were having a grand old time.
"Michael, just the man I want to see." I exclaimed.
"Jim?" he said
"I just realized something when I was riding up on the elevator.  I can't leave without giving you this" I reached for the small leather case I had safely packed in my suitcase."
"Here." I presented the case to my cousin and he opened it to see a pair of thick lensed woman's eyeglasses." He gulped.
"Are these. . ." his voice trailed off and I finished with "Yeah, Aunt Paula's eyeglasses.  I figure if your grandmother and my aunt could never meet, what better place  to leave this, than with you"
Everyone in the room remained silent until Michael smiled and realized, "You know, I really believe that your aunt and my Nana have met at last.  Don't cha' now?"