Gift

Lying on our hotel bed this past weekend, late afternoon in a distant city, my phone lit up. Linda was calling. My first thought was I hope everything’s okay, health being fragile and nothing going according to plan. Linda and I are bound by marriage between our children and now Henry, our grandson; shared holidays, hearts and minds almost freakishly aligned. I was surprised to hear from her (we are generally morning talkers) but nothing being normal, why not? She said oh, my dear, I’ve been watching the news and I had to call to let you know I am here for you and the family, always, always. This is beyond horrific; my heart is broken.

It meant everything (and by everything, I mean everything) in that moment, the fullness of unqualified compassion. As a proud bleeding heart I pay attention, work to stay informed, am open to enlightenment. I understand the significance of historical context in matters of cause and effect. But lying on that hotel bed on Day One I needed to feel first, sort later. Linda, as sister-friend, fellow grandmother to the same precious Jewish toddler, gave me the gift of simple empathy, so I could face the darkness while knowing I was not alone.