Grief and Meditation
Moments with Strangers

I was painting my nails at the park, awkwardly trying not to touch anything as they dried.
A man sat down on the bench across from me. With him was a full plastic bag filled with clothes. On the very top sat a small stuffed bear. The name of the hospital across the street was printed in bold letters across it. Exhausted he tossed his backpack to the ground. Gently he place the plastic bag beside him. He looked tired. His eyes were puffy and red. Clearly he’d been crying.
It took a few minutes for him to settle in. Palms open, skyward facing, eyes closed. Slowly he found stillness. The longer he concentrated on his breathing, the less audible his tears were. Each breath grew longer. Steadier. Softer.
Around us: Traffic.
Nearby a car alarm went off. Kids giggled running down the street. Police sirens blared. Snip bits of conversations from people passing rose and fell as they passed through the tiny park. He sat still.
My nails had been dry for twenty minutes before I got up to leave. He was still there. He felt nothing like the man who first sat on the bench. Calmer. Lighter. Still resilient.