To Mr. R, the gentleman who shared my company on the airport shuttle bus late last night:

I don’t know if you’ll remember me. We spoke for five minutes, ten at the most. I know nothing about you except

  • You parked in Row 4R. “R” is the first letter of your last name, and your brilliant secret to finding your car in the crowded parking lot.
  • We share a sense of humor. Neither one of us did a very good job stifling the laughter when our driver sounded EXACTLY like Charlie Brown’s teacher (“Wa wa wa, wa wa wa, wa wa.”).
  • You have a kind heart.

Your heart didn’t show itself in anything you did. Or said. You wore it as much as your tan overcoat, double hearing aids and smile.

I don’t take kindness for granted anymore, Mr. R. So thank you for doing whatever you’ve done for the past 70 years of your life to end up becoming a person I wish I could know. Your kindness lit a corner of my night. And I’ll be remembering you.

Michele

P.S. I found my car. Next time I’ll be in 4C.

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