I remembered how she always pulled up a chair. How she spoke to me as if my fear truly mattered. How she never made me feel like I was asking for too much.
She had carried me through nights that might have broken me otherwise, gently threading hope into moments where despair could have easily taken over.
When the segment ended, I knew I couldn’t let it pass.
I contacted the hospital, unsure whether they could help me reach her. They did. A few days later, I received a handwritten letter.
She remembered me.
She wrote that watching parents regain their strength was the greatest reward she could imagine.
Her words were simple, yet they stayed with me—proof that even the smallest act of kindness can echo far beyond the moment it’s given.
Now, whenever life feels heavy, I think back to those nights in the hospital. To the quiet room. To the woman who sat beside me when I felt invisible and afraid.
She reminded me that goodness rarely arrives loudly.
Most of the time, it comes softly—like a nurse pulling up a chair in the dark, offering comfort without asking for anything in return.
And because of her, I try to do the same.
Every day.
One gentle act at a time.
