In December of 2017 I went to Virginia for several weeks to help take care of my father. If I had known that he would die in mid-January, I (hope I) would have stayed for the duration, but I wound up leaving right before Christmas, and returning to Powhatan when I got the news.

For both trips, I flew into Washington D.C. In December, I rode a shuttle bus to a rental car lot in the city. That first time, business was slow, the young man behind the desk was efficient and polite, and I was soon on my way. When I got the news in January, I came back, and found myself at the same car rental desk facing the same pleasant young man. He recognized me and I briefly explained my situation. He expressed his condolences and set about the business of getting me a car.

He was alone in the office that night, it was very late, and business was not slow. The shuttle had dropped off a lot of people, and I somehow found myself at the front of the line (a thing that never happened when I was waiting with a group for the school bus, but I digress). All was going well, and the folks behind me in line were, while tired and travel-worn, patient and polite with each other, with me, and with the kid working the desk. There were even some small children present, and none of them were crying.

All went smoothly until I felt for my phone in its customary spot in my back left pocket and found it to be not there. On such discovery, I sat right down on the floor in front of the counter, with my sudden tears dripping and splashing all over everything, and began searching through my bags. Meanwhile, that unflappable boy went back to look at security footage, to see if my phone had been stolen. I quickly found the phone, having placed it in my purse for some reason, and he was able to get me on my way and move to the next customer without much more delay.

It’s hard, now, the fathom how nobody in that lobby showed the slightest sign of stress or impatience even in the face of a meltdown on the part of a middle-aged stranger and a tacit accusation of theft. If I were ever to cross paths with any of those people again, I would not recognize them, but I hope they have some memory of how their choice to just quietly wait made all the difference in the world to one grieving daughter. And as for the clerk, I will never fully understand how someone so young could show such quiet professionalism, could demonstrate so effortlessly the “slow down to speed up” approach to doing business, and could still find time for expressions of kindness to someone he did not know. I hope he too recalls the multiple ways in which he helped me get through that evening.