My friend Stacey has this inexplicable magnet hidden somewhere in her body that tells all the crazies in the world to seek her out and tell her their life story.
I'm not kidding.
She has so many wacky encounters, I have been trying to convince her to install a purse-cam and document these shenanigans....she'd get an Oscar for "Travels With Stacey" or something. Needless to say, she is never without a good story or an important one.
Years ago, Stacey was on a plane flying from somewhere back to Philly when a woman took a seat beside her (actually, she did that before the plane was actually flying....but that's just a techinicality). They exchanged a smile greeting before returning to their quiet thoughts for the long flight home.
Suddenly, however, the woman burst into tears.
Stacey, who would consider this familiar territory, asked the woman if she was okay and if she could help in any way. The woman shared her story with Stacey.
That day was the anniversary of her son's passing. At age five, the two were sitting in the kitchen having a great kid conversation as she prepared their lunch. Her son chatted away about everything while she sliced up his hot dog, ignoring the voice in her head that told her the slices were too big. You can guess how this story ends.
Needless to say, the woman's grief had been almost insurmountable, but somehow she had managed to find her way through the darkness and accept the road her life had taken. She was now pregnant again, preparing to welcome a child into her life again. She was excited about her pregnancy, but a day had yet to go by when she didn't think of him and feel tremendous guilt.
I think of this secondhand story every time I cut food for my kids.
I'm 32, a dad, and I am not a douchebag...
6 years ago