This world is filled with good people. Really good people who do right things at the right time to make other people’s lives better. And a few who don’t.

Last week, I went to the store with two children to get some groceries for them and their mom. One of the children is a special needs child. Sometimes, the sounds and sights and busyness of a big store unsettles her, and she reacts. Such was the case this time. When she reacts, she sometimes gets a bloody nose. Such was the case this time. By the time we got to the checkout, she had come unglued. She sat in the cart holding a wad of bloody tissues to her nose, crying and hollering that she didn’t want to be there. We weren’t the most put-together group in the self-checkout area.

Her hollering brought glances, stares and some disapproving looks. I felt the weight of people’s judgment as I scrambled to check out the groceries. I thought, I don’t want to be here either but if these kids want dinner, we have to get this done.

The man at the check-out station next to mine leaned over to me. I hoped for some kindness. What I got was, “Why don’t you just take her out of here? Is your stuff really that important?” Nearly unhinged, I continued to frantically run groceries through the checkout, ignoring the little girl’s hollering and the harsh glares until I finished. I hastily pushed the cart and kids out to the car, loaded everyone and everything, and took them home. The mom was so understanding. Nothing I told her was new to her. In fact, what I’d just been through was a common occurrence in her world. She just takes it in stride; this is her life.

But not mine.

I left and headed to another store to finish my own shopping. Once there, I pulled into a parking spot, sat in my car and let the tears fall. I was so sad, so heartbroken for that little girl and for her mom — a brave soul who continually shoulders misunderstood, harsh judgment. In that moment, I was frustrated with myself for not handling it better and dismayed at the unkindness of strangers.

I finally dug around in my glovebox for a napkin to wipe eyes, grabbed my purse and checked the next car to make sure I wouldn’t hit it when I opened my door. As I glanced that way, I saw the faces of a mother and her teen daughter sitting in the car next to me, both staring at me with wide eyes. I looked into the eyes of the mom and at that moment she mouthed through both our closed car windows, “Are you OK?”

The flash of kindness into my dark emotions was like a sun ray. Completely unhinged, the tears poured out again. Any answer other than “No” would have been a lie — both of us knew that. So I helplessly shook my head “No.”

And then that dear lady mouthed to me, “Do you need a hug?” as she circled her arms in front of her. Dozens of emotions clashed together at that moment — I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me. COVID says we don’t hug strangers. It’s windy out there. This is crazy.

I dumped all of those and again truthfully answered her question with a nod, “Yes.”

We both jumped out of our cars and met in front of hers. That woman wrapped me into a bear hug and let me hang on while I just wept. Relief washed over me. Eventually, I relaxed and stepped back. She asked what was wrong. I poured out my sadness. She listened, comforted, said I was going to be OK. She was right, of course. To be hugged like that by a complete stranger who also bandages your heart with assurances was extraordinarily healing.

I thanked her and asked for her first name. I told her she was an angel, and told her daughter she looked like an angel.

So April, I just want to thank you. Your hug healed my heart, for sure. But the kindness of your simple, generous gesture restored my wounded faith in people.

Just want you to know — I’m trying to be more like you.