Columnist Lisa Weber says she's a better human being because of her diagnosis
She was fumbling through her coupon book, desperately trying to ignore the stares and loud sighs. As the line to the cash register grew, the moaning and groaning intensified.
I gently said, “Take your time. You’re doing great.”
The young woman locked eyes with me, and I could instantly feel the pain in her heart. I choked back tears as she began to smile. Her grin spoke volumes, as if to say thank you for understanding.
I wasn’t angry with the impatient crowd behind us. I used to be just like them, so focused on daily routines that I looked past the people suffering all around me. I’m sure this woman would’ve loved to pull out a wad of cash and pay for her groceries without a care in the world. But I could see her trembling hands and hear the nervousness in her voice as she explained, “Hang on a second. I’ve got a coupon for that right here.” She was in survival mode.
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