Saturday was an "off" day. I was feeling a little blah; it lasted all day.
My husband and I were chatting in the evening, and he shared with me an incident from the day before. He volunteers as the supervisor of the day shelter in town. He sits at the front desk and handles the inquiries, problems, incoming phone calls, donations, and emergencies. It can be stressful but he, no ordinary person, enjoys the challenge and the opportunity to interact with the homeless who use the shelter.
So the story began, "I got to talking yesterday with a guy who told me that his wife died exactly a year ago to the day. He was a young guy--about 40."
My exclaimed "Oh!" punctuated the narrative.
He continued, "So I asked him, 'Was it an unexpected death, or was she sick?' and the guy told me that she was on dialysis and she decided not to continue. 'I tried to talk her out of it,' he said, 'but she said it was her decision.'"
At this, my husband paused a moment and looked directly at me. "Dialysis is expensive. They were poor."
And here I was feeling blah. Suddenly I felt lucky...and sad, too. But not sad for myself anymore.