Today, a nurse who owns a medical supply store let us have a wheelchair for my mother for a few hours. He didn’t want me to sign papers releasing him from liability. He didn’t want ID or credit card. He didn’t want my name. He didn’t want money. He showed me how to open it, to lock the wheels. The wheelchair was brand new, black metal and nylon, with plastic wrap still covering the brake levers. He loaded it into the back of the van and watched us-strangers-drive away.

We wouldn’t think to ask for this kind of gesture; it was a bit of grace. To stumble into unmeditated love brings everything, even anxiety, to a pause.