On a brilliantly sunny Monday morning, I approached the corner of 7 & H Streets, just missing the WALK signal. There was a crowd growing there, waiting to cross. As I removed my jacket, a woman pleasantly said, "Hot day today," and I agreed, nodding.
"I hope the weather is this good on Wednesday - it's my birthday," she said.
"Do you have plans for a nice birthday?" I asked. (I assumed that she did.)
"Not really. This is always a bad week every year. My husband died several years ago today." She paused. "And my grandchild died two days after my birthday."
"This is terrible!" I turned to really look at her. She was no longer a stranger.
"That child was only seven months old."
We crossed the street and paused because clearly she was about to go down H Street and I was headed up 7th. I looked at her sad and dazed expression a moment and, as she started to walk away, I said, "I will think of you on Wednesday, wishing you a happy birthday." She thanked me and disappeared in the crowd.
And so our (maybe) five-minute relationship played out.
I think of this woman from time to time, reminding me how we never know what anyone else is going through. And despite the frustrations of daily life, I need to be more patient and yielding as I walk among strangers on the street.