Sometimes people are incredibly kind

Friday, July 17, 2015

My father died at 2 am. It is 10 am and I am already back in Northeastern PA at my parents’ mother’s house. Everything is terrible. Nothing is comfortable. It’s easily one of the top five worst days of my life (and at least two of the others happened in the days just prior).

Compounding the misery, I don’t really have much to wear. I left NYC for Philly straight from a work meeting on Monday, with just the clothes on my back. There are a few t-shirts and stuff in the drawers of the dresser in my childhood bedroom, but not much else. Katie kindly brought me a suitcase with some clothes on Tuesday, but I have already worn everything in it–other than the lacy yellow thong I found mixed in.*

This is how I ended up dressed like this in a J Crew factory store.

Lolla

Had I showered? No. Had I put on a bra? No.

I did put a pair of underwear in my purse, though, so I’m not 100% gross. Maybe just 90%.

Oh, and I got that t-shirt at Lollapalooza one hundred million years ago which I attended with “Dan.” Hi Dan.

So there I was, bleary-eyed and a mess and SHOPPING. I sputtered out something to an impeccably groomed and dressed saleswoman named Emily that probably sounded like “mydaddiedafewhoursagoandIdonthaveanyclothesbecauseIdontliveherehelp.” I took a lot of items into the dressing room and bought many of them.

When I went to pay, Emily and her colleague gave me an additional discount – a generous one. And then Emily came over and hugged unshowered, pajamas-wearing, gross, sad me.

I’ll never forget her kindness.

Kind acts keep coming my way. I have had friends drop everything to spend time with me and whisk me out of town to relax at their country houses (more on that soon).

A super-awesome Twitter friend I haven’t had a chance to meet in person yet sent me Zingerman’s cinnamon rolls.

The marketing manager at my nail salon sat with me and listened to my stories about Dad. When I was getting ready to leave, the receptionist stopped me and said “Jessica wants to treat you to a massage.”

There’s much more I could tell you but this post is long enough. You sticking with me and these sad posts is also kindness. Thank you.

*In Katie’s defense, she reached into my underwear drawer, taking an approach similar to one of those claw machines full of toys you find on a boardwalk. I’d have done the same.

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