I remember that day in its entirety. There are days like that in our memory. Days that stand out so clearly, for whatever reason. I remember that we visited all the local historical spots, shopped, had lunch in a quaint pub, and witnessed the hustle and bustle of university students doing various activities, during their equivalent to our Frosh Week. Did you know that Prince William attended university there, and that this was where Kate became his roomie? I am not a monarchist, nor a lover of anything royal. Why in the heck am I mentioning this? Go figure! I digress...so...
to get back to my story. We visited The Old Course, doing the touristy things like getting your picture taken on this little famous stone bridge, spending too much on souvenirs, and strolling around the course. We had stopped near the 18th hole, by the green, to just rest, and watch the golfers teeing off, working their way up the fairway. It was a lovely fall day, just perfect weather. I had wandered away from the others, who were chatting and was observing my surroundings, when I noticed a woman just hovering on the fringe of the eighteenth hole. She seemed a little distraught; she had a kerchief in one hand, and one hand in her pocket. Sensing something, I watched and waited. When the last foursome had putted, and left, there was no one on the green, The next golfers were still a ways down the fairway. She then stepped out onto the green, while pulling a baggie out of her pocket. I instantly realized what she was going to do. She slowly sprinkled the contents all around her, and with her head down, visibly upset, made her way up the steps to the observation level, where I was standing.
I instinctively pulled a tissue out of my pocket, walked half way down the steps, met her, put out my hand, and said, "Could you use another one of these?" She started sobbing, so I gathered her in my arms, in a big hug, and let her cry on my shoulder. Between the flow of tears, she told me her story. Her name was Jane Bird, Jane from Indianapolis, Indiana. She had taken a tour bus from Edinburgh that morning, not knowing anyone, but with a single solitary purpose; to scatter her late husband's ashes on The Old Course. You see, his dream had been to golf at The Old Course in St. Andrews. Someday. However, that someday never came. He became ill with cancer, and died before his dream could be fulfilled. Jane, a year later, came to do the O-N-E thing she knew she had to do, in his memory. She had promised him she would. We chatted quietly, while she calmed down. She thanked me for being "an angel". I could only nod, with a bit of a lump in my throat, and reply, "Something or someone told me that I had to be HERE for you, so you wouldn't be alone."
THAT is why I remember St. Andrews. I A*L*W*A*Y*S will. That moment is stamped indelibly in my memories. My walk on and around the course that day, was definitely NOT a good walk spoiled. I reached out, touched someone, and made a memory.
