By Debra Houston | On a recent Saturday, my husband and I ordered dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Tucker. Neither of us spoke thereafter, nor smiled. Our minds were elsewhere.
Across the aisle, an animated young couple flirted with one another, while we, the older couple, sat static and listless. Drawn to their laughter, I’d occasionally sneak a peek, hoping their cheer might rub off on me.
Our dinner came and we ate in silence. We both cleaned our plates. I said, “We were hungrier than we thought.” We’d not eaten regularly or slept well for a while. Our broken hearts were on clear display. We made no pretense to disguise them.
Our neighbor and friend of 36 years had died the night before. “Died in my arms,” her husband tearfully said. Diagnosed with cancer three months earlier, she vowed to fight it. Radiation and chemo followed, but the cancer spread. Now she was gone.
During those tortuous days – and nights – we sought to ease the family’s suffering. My husband mowed their lawn frequently. We offered moral support. We prayed. We sent over a big-old coconut cake…..our acts of small kindnesses.
Her funeral was scheduled for Tuesday. We would attend, then leave directly for vacation, though it seemed insensitive to go. Her husband urged us not to change our plans. “You’ve done more than enough”…..his words, a small kindness.
Back at the restaurant, the lovebirds headed toward the door. Before exiting into the bright sunshine, they turned and gave us an intense look. “How odd,” I thought. Then the bill came. My husband reached for his wallet, but in broken English, the waitress said someone had already paid. “You owe nothing.”
“Really?” we asked, not believing our ears. “Who paid?”
She pointed to the lovebirds’ table. And then it struck me. They had sensed our grief.
Now we were the animated couple laughing and making conversation. On the drive home, we praised the two angels who had given us a reprieve from sorrow.
A small kindness? There’s no such thing. All kindnesses are colossal.
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