The kindness of strangers and friends

The train stopped at 125th street station. It was 5:00 AM. I sat there, half awake, half asleep, when the subway car doors opened and in walked a group of men, all around the age of my father, laughing, talking, obviously ready to head to work.

I watched them as they said their good mornings to each other. A sense of familiarity was shared, as if this same routine was done for years. Their hands were dry and rough, signs that whatever they did was hard, labor intensive. They were all married, their wedding bands clutched onto their fingers almost as if part of their skin.

As I watched them, these hard-working men, I felt a pang of sadness come over me. I missed my father. Not so much the father with whom I have a strained relationship, as much as the father I never knew. A loving, caring, soft, yet strong father. A nurturer, protector, playful father. One that would spend years upon years of his life wearing my mother’s wedding band around his finger, laboring day in and day out to provide for us.

Of course, I know nothing about these men, whether they are good husbands, or fathers, but I didn’t care. The fantasy of them being so overwhelmed me with a sadness I couldn’t shake. A sadness for the things I don’t have.

“Going on a trip there, Miss?” said one of the oldest men as he smiled at me. “Hope it’s somewhere fun. I can’t remember the last time me and my Mrs. took a trip. A trip would be nice.”

I smiled back, coming out of my thoughts. “I hope you and your Mrs. get to travel soon. Life is too short, you should take some time to enjoy it.”

“Well, then. Aren’t you a wise one?” he smiled. “You remind me of my daughter. She’s in college you know. Sharp as a whip that one!” He paused. “Thank you Miss. You reminded me of something important today.”

The train stopped. All the men got off. The stranger and I smiled at each other as he got off the train. I saw him slowly walk away, talking to his co-workers, holding on to a newspaper and a brown paper bag.

Turns out he reminded me of something incredibly important too. He reminded me of how lucky I am.

These past few days things have happened that have made me both angry and sad. That worst side of human-nature reared its ugly head and I was at the end of the beatings. This New Yorker isn’t always so tough and words do hurt me.

But as this intense, awful experience was unfolding something even more  intense and wonderful happened. My email was flooded with messages from friends and family. People who I have only worked with a few times before picked up the phone to call me. My social networks lit up with words of support and encouragement. It was incredible. It was unreal. It was more than I could ever imagine.

And I realized that often, in my darkest times, this happens. I am bombarded with love and kindness. I am held up and pushed forward. I am reminded of the reality that is my life in general, and made to forget the negativity that may be taking over what is, in the larger scheme of things, a brief moment.

There, on that train, a train I was taking to the airport on my way to an amazing trip, one of many which come about because of my work and the results of my passion these past few years, I remembered. He, this complete stranger, reminded me. I am not missing anything. I have nothing to be sad about. I am, without a doubt, one of the luckiest people I know. And it’s all because I know that when the chips fall, even without my dream dad in my life, I have an army of friends who are there to help me, love me, and support me through the process.

Nothing anyone says or does can change that. My hope is that I am always as loving, supportive, and kind a person as the many people who stand by me, both online and off, every single day of my life. And that I may be as strong a rock for them when they need someone as they are for me.

In the end, nothing else matters. To that wonderful stranger on the train, thank you. To you my family and friends, words will never suffice. But for now, thank you.

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