For lunch today, I grabbed a 6-inch veggie delight from Subway in Canton. I was driving to Sykesville to visit an old friend at a funeral home, where she and her family were receiving visitors before a memorial service for her father. He was killed last week by a (n allegedly) drunk driver, according to the papers.
On my sub, I got provolone cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber. Usually I would have gotten red onions, too, but since I hadn't seen this girl (woman) for several years, and she had already been traumatized that week, I didn't want to breathe onion breath into her face as I expressed my condolences.
I ate the sub - or more like, scarfed it - as I drove out to Sykesville. Luckily I didn't get any oil or vinegar on my black dress. I'd hemmed and hawed over whether to go, because this girl and I had been close in high school but lost touch shortly after we entered college. We might have gotten in a fight, but I honestly can't remember. After college, we got together for lunch once, but it was awkward. I'd always felt sad about this. And then this week, when I read about her dad's death, I was struck with empathy like I hadn't felt before. Why does tragedy strike anyone, but especially, the people and the families who are the most generous and kind?
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