The bus driver who remembered my name

Dear Editor,

After my husband passed, I stopped talking to most people. Grief had a way of making every conversation feel like work. Then Rosa, who drives the Route 14 bus, started greeting me by name every morning. She never pushed, never asked intrusive questions. She just said, "Good morning, Eleanor," and held the door a beat longer when my knees were stiff.

One rainy Tuesday she slipped a napkin under my hand with a phone number for a widow's support group at the community center. I did not call that week. I called the next. That small act of noticing changed the shape of my year.

We talk a lot about infrastructure in this country. Sometimes the most important infrastructure is a person who sees you.

Sincerely,
Eleanor Whitfield