The woman recognized me a little but couldn't place me. So I told her me name as we sat in the waiting room. Telling people my name is always a mistake.
"You wrote a story about my son," she said. "He died in a car accident."
I told her I was sorry her son died.
"I didn't like the story, the way you guys always ran his picture," but not the photograph of the other person involved in the fatal wreck.
I told her I was sorry, that those decisions are made by the people I work for, not by me. I knew that was cold comfort. But what do you say to someone who is hurting?
"No one should have to go through what you are going through," I said. "I really am sorry."
She started to weep. Then, she dealt with the person she was waiting on and got up. If she had wanted to yell at me I would have understood. I have been yelled at plenty over the years. But she did not say anything else.
She stuck out her hand and I shook it. Then she walked out into the cold. I thought her actions showed grace, something we could all use in these days.
