Tender Heart

I had a follow-up appointment with the hand specialist on Monday and was in the waiting room with a few others. A few minutes after I arrived, an older man came in wheeling his frail wife, who was clearly in distress. Once he got her in place, he sat beside her, gently brushing away the thin, gray strands of hair that had fallen onto her face. One hand was over her hands, clasped in her lap while the other gently stroked her cheek as he quietly assuring her that everything would be okay—that she would be okay.

It took a little bit, but she seemed to be noticeably calmer after his efforts. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced up, saw me watching with tears in my eyes and offered me the sweetest smile. There was so much in his smile and eyes that brought me into his world. In that moment, I saw a man who loved his wife deeply and truly meant it when he vowed to stay by her side through it all. 

I have a tender heart and moments like this really move me. People often say that I’m “too sensitive,” and honestly, they’re right—I feel everything deeply. But if feeling this deeply is the cost of having a tender heart, it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.

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