We were together on a bus ride, so it made sense to chat. It had recently been the tenth anniversary of her mother's death, and I asked if she would like to hear stories about her. I had known her mother for decades, as we both moved from one state to another, and their family once lived with us for a few weeks in transition.

 

I chose one of my favorites. 

 

"Your mom had just finished a visit with someone she felt anxious about, and it had gone really well. Driving home with five small kids in the back she told God how grateful she was for His help. She offered to do whatever He wanted. Anything. Then she went around a corner. There was a stranded car. Argh! Not this! Anything but this! She knew nothing about engines, and how could she put her kids in danger by stopping for a complete stranger? But she resigned herself to the promise she has so recently made, and pulled over."

 

I paused to ask my fellow traveler if she already knew how it turned out. She didn't. 

 

"Well, they got into easy conversation, as was your mother's gift, and she gave her a ride to a mechanic. In that short time, they struck up a friendship that lasted for many years. All because she told God thank you."

 

The young woman soaked in the borrowed memory, adding to the small collection of a girl who lost her mother too soon. 

 

It took no money, nor physical exertion. Sharing a reflection about someone I care about is a ready gift, taking up no space in my pockets. I am curious what happens when we do this for each other. Perhaps it knits us together in a pattern that keeps us all warm when the winds of loss blow through.