A Small Conversation

So in my disguise as a mild-mannered postal retail clerk, I had this conversation at my window yesterday.

A classic "little old lady" had walked up and purchased a few stamps, when she looked at my name tag and said, "My son's name is Mark."

I smiled and confidently replied, "It's a good name."

"He died."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"When he was 41."

At a loss, I offered, "Was he able to leave you any grandchildren?"

"No."

"Well, I am sorry for your loss, ma'am."

"He had Crohn's Disease. He died two days after his fifth operation."

At this point, before I could muster another response, she said, "I had five sons. He was the youngest." And then she toddled away.

The selfish part of me was squirming. It was all, like, "thanks for letting me know my name reminds you of something tragic...." but the more mature spirit in me realized she just wanted someone to talk to about it. I had the sense this had happened in her life quite some time ago, not recently, but we honestly didn't talk about that.

And now I've talked about it with someone. The circle of life goes on.