Then maybe it’s you? You probably won’t even remember me, but in late 2014 you asked me if I was alright as you greeted people when I was boarding the train. I broke down, and told you I was on my way to say goodbye to my father, who was dying. You were so very, very kind. You got me settled on board, and sat with me, and held my hand for as long as you could, then later you reappeared with coffee and tissues. When we arrived you gave me a hug. We lost my dad a few days later, but before he died I told him about my journey over, and how kind one particular woman was to me. It pleased him, and the last thing he said to me was “the only thing that’s really important in life is to be kind.” In my haze of sadness, I accidentally put the teaspoon from the coffee you brought me in my bag, and occasionally I come across it in the back of the cutlery drawer, and I think of you. How much you helped me, a total stranger. I think of what my dad said. And I really wish I had said thank you properly, and let you know how much your kindness meant at such a horrible time. So tonight when I came across the spoon, I thought I would try this.
Thank you!