Dear Diary:
Almost three years ago my father passed away, shattering my world and my family’s. As we rebuilt our lives, many people were supportive, a few were less than that, but one man, whose name I’ll never know, helped me tremendously.
I was sitting on a bench in City Hall Park, crying on the phone with my mother after a particularly vicious boss had leveled me with a staggeringly unsympathetic comment about my loss. As I recounted this tale, tears streaming down my face, a man sat down next to me and ate his lunch.
I continued to weep into the phone. He finished his lunch and left. I would have never remembered him, except that a few minutes later he returned with a box of tissues in a Duane Reade bag. He handed them over silently and left before I could compose myself enough to thank him.
I thank him now for reminding me that just when you think humanity has shown you it’s worst, it brings out the best it has to offer.
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