I have a tube of brilliant red lipstick that is almost gone now. Anytime I wear it, I wonder silently if I’m “pulling it off”. I don’t know that I would have bought such a shade, but a few years ago – a lifetime ago from where I stand today – an older woman gave the lipstick to me, and now I pause to use the last of it. 

Her name was Mano. She was around 70 or so and lived with her husband, an older gentleman who was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Mano and Bill practiced acupuncture, at least both had practiced – Mano was still working when I met them.

My situation was precarious at the time. After the loss of my husband, sister, and job in fairly short order I had expended my resources and experienced a bi-polar manic episode. This episode rendered me homeless in Las Cruces New Mexico trying to recover. I had met a stranger, a Cuban drug dealer who felt sorry for me and had given me a roof over my head, but I still felt unsafe. I was in fear for being arrested just being around him and I wasn’t able to get to doctors to try to help stabilize my emotional condition.

Mano learned about me through a friend of my son’s. He explained my situation to her and offered that perhaps I could come to live with Mano and Bill and help her care for him in exchange for room and board. They agreed and I leaped at the opportunity to move into a stable home. 

Mano was an amazing woman. She was petite and altogether beautiful with high cheekbones and a graceful yet assertive manner. She was originally from the Philippines; her father was from Japan and her mother from the states. Entering their home was like entering a different world. There were statutes and miniature gardens, tables overflowing with crystals and there were mobiles hanging from the ceiling. The chairs were covered with multicolored paisley patterns. We spent part of our days listening to African drumming music and cooking – Mano sharing her knowledge with me of many foreign spices I’d never heard about. 

Bill was delightful for the most part as well. He used to play the trombone in the Army band and could still play jazz trombone despite his mental diminishment. In fact, on Sundays when musicians would play at a local Mesilla establishment, Mano would take Bill and his trombone to the restaurant and ask the band if Bill could sit in with them. They would usually oblige – one usually didn’t turn Mano down – and Bill would proceed to bring the house down with his playing. Mano would also bring street musicians home that she would meet at the farmer’s market and she would pay them to come over and jam with Bill. His one downfall was that he was prone to losing his trombone mouthpiece. Several times I accompanied Mano to the music store to buy him another one for a pretty penny. Later we would find them one by one in a sock drawer or by the pool outside.

I was fragile then, truly humbled by my circumstances and struggling to regain my mental health. Mano was bossy at times, but she had compassion for me. She bought us healthy food from the cooperative grocery store and would frequently give me some money so I would “have a few dollars of my own to spend.” She played the drumming music with Bill and I and taught me how to meditate. She took me to doctor appointments, bought me new eyeglasses, and paid to have my driver’s license renewed. She also gave me clothing, jewelry and a tube of red lipstick. She told me to wear it proudly and that the color suited me. 

For my part, I entertained and was entertained by Bill. Most of the time he was a delight – regaling us with stories both true and fanciful. It was only in the afternoons that he would sometimes face what is called Sundowner’s syndrome. When this happened, he would try to leave the house to find work or to visit his mother, whom he was sure lived down the street. Mano would give him cannabis tincture in the mornings though and this would lesson his anxiety when the shadows grew long in the afternoon.  

Mano used her acupuncture on me. If I had a headache she would say to me, “Let’s just slip a few needles into you.” That was a new idea to me! She also would take me into a dark treatment room where I would view various colored flashing lights from a machine. These were to help with PTSD. Slowly, I began to heal, even laughing or dancing with Mano and Bill.

Life has a way of evolving so quickly. I stayed with Mano and Bill about six months before moving to Carlsbad to stay with another friend. The move actually stemmed from an argument we had. She asked me to move some furniture from her offices to the house. I moved furniture but found she had not been specific enough. I had wasted my efforts and was angry. I said words about being taken for granted and took a long walk. The next morning Mano told me I should find another place to live. I think she knew I was ready to join the rest of society. I was distraught, but in that year I would move in with a longtime friend, find a new love, and would later marry. 

Mano called me a couple years after that. She was ill and she asked me to pray for her. She wanted me to visit as well. I felt in my heart that I should go see her, but I did not. We had just come back from a trip to Seattle and I was exhausted. Then I didn’t hear from her and I swear in the silence of the telephone, I could feel her absence. I finally sent a message to a friend of hers through LinkedIn. She responded that Mano had passed away. She didn’t know what had become of Bill. 

Now missing them, I grieve their loss. How amazing it was that they were there for me and perhaps – that I was there for them. And they are bittersweet memories now as I reflect on them and how they, especially Mano, helped bring me back to myself and back to life. In retrospect I was timid, scarred and scared entering her home - beaten up by life for a time. She nourished me and tended me until like an injured bird I was ready to fly again. 

So now as I prepare to go out on a special occasion, I look down at that tube of bright red lipstick. Should I wear it again today even though it’s almost gone? I have a few mementos from my special time with Mano, but the lipstick reminds me most of the connection that we made and the gift of self-esteem she left behind with me.