The Stranger
Went to see a show last night at the Paramount Theater in downtown Austin. We parked in the garage they use and went off to meet friends for dinner. In the lobby, my host realized he’d forgotten to put on his boots. So, he went back up to his truck and I sat in the lobby to wait. About halfway through the wait, a man dressed in black passed by me. He stopped. Turned and asked, “Are you alright?” I’d been sitting, staring off into space and at the time of the question, rubbing an itchy eye. I thanked him for his concern and assured him I was alright.
As he walked away, I thought how nice it was for a complete stranger to stop and inquire about my well-being. To see a man alone in the lobby of a building and check in on him, as if he were a friend. I thought it said nice things about him; spoke well of his character. I got to tell him so in person when I got to the Paramount and realized he was an usher. We talked for a bit and then went our separate ways, me to a night of music, and him to the caring life it sounds as though he leads.
It also occurred to me how deep my blessings flow, because I’ve realized for some time how fortunate I am to have the bevy of friends I have, people who have flown in on the wings of angels to carry me through the tough times that followed the death of my wife, and even before that when she was in memory care. They were always there with words of love. And now, here I was, my story unknown to a passing stranger, and still he stopped to inquire about me. And I thought the universe was a deep and mysterious place and I was hardly alone in it.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale