He gave me a tight nod.
I returned it.
Then I kept walking.
No speech.
No smug smile.
No grand moment.
Just movement.
Forward.
That was all I wanted.
Forward.
And maybe that is the final shape of the thing.
Not triumph.
Not karma.
Forward.
A man leaves home expecting a normal Monday.
A woman collapses on the side of the road.
He stops.
He loses something.
He gains something else.
He becomes, in the process, a little more himself.
That’s the whole story.
Messy.
Painful.
Unlikely.
Human.
And every now and then, when I’m leaving the office after a long day and the building is mostly empty, I pass the glass wall near the lobby and catch my own reflection.
Older now than I was then.
A little grayer at the temples.
A little thicker around the middle.
Still carrying too much responsibility on some days.
Still worrying more than Emily says is healthy.
