Recently, as I was cycling down the street on my way there, I passed a young woman walking down the sidewalk. There was a unique tenderness written into her face that had an almost holy aspect, and she seemed preoccupied, as if all of her emotions were living right there on the surface, and I immediately wanted to know what she was thinking. But as quickly as I glimpsed her, she was gone, receding into the city as I coasted by.

After stopping to do a little banking, I walked into Wellspring about 15 minutes later and saw this woman inside the building waiting for the elevator. I was startled by this coincidence and started up a conversation, one that saw me telling her that my allergies were driving me crazy. Waves of benevolence seemed to pour from her when I said this, and with a humbling compassion and sincerity, she reached out and touched my arm in sympathy. I immediately felt horrible, like some fraud whom she believed was bravely battling through cancer and all the small, secondary miseries that are so often attendant, when the truth was that I was probably the luckiest person in the building. I felt ashamed and grew mumbly, bidding her a goodbye as she stepped out of the elevator and walked into a room where a grief support group was meeting, and I realized then that what I had seen in her face earlier, was the remembering, the cherishing of love, something that still encircled her like light.