One Of Them Had To Walk Out With Me

I sat in their house talking to them.  They were visibly upset.  I knew that I was the one who brought worry and frustration to their door.  It’s my job.  Not only did I bring it to their door, I had to bring it in with me, sit it down with me on the couch.

And leave it behind.

We spoke directly about problems and solutions.   We addressed concerns and issues.  And I tried to relieve their anger and frustration.   Because I fully understood it.  I gave encouragement, and thanks, for what they do.  I spoke, but more so, I listened.

All of this led up to the very briefest of exchanges.

We wrapped up our visit together.  We said our goodbyes.  I was escorted to the door.  I thought I was walking out alone.  But one of them had to walk out with me.   I wondered if there was something that needed said in private.   Was there something to be asked.  Or something to be shared.

We stepped out and the door was closed behind us.  Nothing was said.  I commented on the beautiful flowers.  Comments about nothing important were exchanged.  Then-this person reached out and with barely a connection made-had to touch my arm.   Above my elbow.  It was a question, a need, a reach for confirmation.

I smiled.

A smile was returned.

And I saw relief flood a face.

They were okay.