Just a day shy of my daughter Mia’s 4th birthday, she dropped a hint that something special was on the horizon. I had just picked her up from preschool when she pointed out an elderly gentleman slowly crossing the parking lot. “Look, Mommy! He walks slow like I do, and I like old people best because they have soft skin like mine,” she exclaimed. “I wanna love them all up before they all go away!”
While the end of her sentiment took a slightly morbid turn, I couldn’t help but admire her tenderness. I was so taken by her sweetness that I shared her words on social media, completely unaware of how deeply they resonated with her.
Fast forward to her birthday — on our way home from school, Mia asked if we could swing by the grocery store to grab some cupcakes for her and her six siblings. How could I resist?
I parked Mia and her little sister in one of those giant grocery carts shaped like a car and headed for the bakery. On my way, something on a clearance shelf caught my eye. As I got distracted picking through almost-expired salad dressings, Mia stood up in the cart, waving excitedly at an elderly man. “Hi, old person! It’s my birthday today!”
I braced myself for an awkward moment, but to my surprise, the man’s stern face softened. “Well, hello there! How old are you today?” he asked.
They chatted for a few moments, and he wished Mia a happy birthday. As we continued shopping, she turned to me with wide eyes and asked, “Can I take a picture with the old man for my birfday?”
How could I say no to that? I found the man a couple of aisles over and approached him, “Excuse me, sir? This is Mia, and she would love to take a photo with you for her birthday.”
His face shifted from confusion to sheer delight. “A photo? With me?” he replied, clearly flabbergasted.
“Yes, please! For my birfday!” Mia urged.
And just like that, we snapped a picture. Mia placed her tiny hand on his, studying the lines and veins of his weathered skin. She kissed the top of his hand, placing it against her cheek, and he beamed with joy. He introduced himself as “Mr. Tom.”
Despite blocking the path for other shoppers, they were lost in their own world, chatting like long-lost friends. After a few minutes, I thanked Mr. Tom for his time, and he wiped away a tear, telling us, “No, thank you. This has been the best day I’ve had in a long time.”
Mia and I left the store, and I couldn’t help but tear up at the sweetness of it all. I shared the story and the photo online, only to receive a message later that day from a reader who recognized Mr. Tom. She informed me that his wife had passed away earlier that year, leaving him feeling lonely and depressed.
Curious to see how he was doing, I called him a few days later. We visited Mr. Tom’s neat little home, where reminders of his late wife were lovingly displayed. He was dressed sharp and had even prepared a little table with crayons for Mia.
We spent nearly three hours with him, sharing stories and laughter. As we left, he handed Mia a rose he had grown in his garden, having painstakingly removed the thorns. “This is for you, my dear,” he said. She cherishes that flower, now dried and kept in a bag under her pillow.
Mia thinks about Mr. Tom every day, fretting over whether he’s warm enough or has enough cheese for his sandwiches. And Mr. Tom, he has confided to me that since meeting Mia, he hasn’t had a sleepless night. “Mia has healed me,” he said, leaving me utterly speechless.
A mere 78 years separated these two, but their connection is undeniable. We made a pact to visit Mr. Tom regularly — even if it’s just for a brief hug or to drop off a cheese Danish, his favorite treat. I’ve even invited him for Thanksgiving; he’s become a part of our family, whether he likes it or not. As Mia said so perfectly, “We’re gonna love him all up.”
Sometimes, a simple conversation with a stranger can lead to the most beautiful beginnings.