Years ago I was walking with my young children when we passed a woman with a large birthmark on her face. Just before we were safely out of ear shot one of my kids asked about it.

"Mom, why did she look like that? What was that brown spot? Does it hurt?"

I took a deep breath, wondering how to phrase my answer, after I even came up with one. This was a long time before I was myself enrolled in the special needs club. Before I could speak, my son answered his own question.

"I bet she knows." He seemed satisfied with that. As if we are not expected to know everything. I exhaled. Instead of me informing him, he explained something to me. 

A friend recently did something that hurt my feelings. I turned it over in my mind like that annoying puzzle piece with no identifying colors. Just muted gray. I tried to engage my imagination, coming up with plausible reasons for why she would have slighted me. But none really fit. 

Then at church I was chatting with a college student about one of her courses and she told about a race in class.

"It was down to the last round and the woman on my team ran to the board, but was just a half second later than the other man. The teacher was unsure of how to call it. Then the woman turned to us and used her wild card. 

"I have cancer!" 

Some were horrified, and others laughed in agreement. Yes, she should get the win because of that. 

Later I went back to my puzzle, and though the person I was stewing about does not to my knowledge have cancer, she has other afflictions that hinder her. Maybe I could just give her a wild card.