American poet Edgar Guest, tells a wonderfully warm story of a neighbor, Jim Potter, the town druggist—a casual acquaintance with whom he exchanged greetings.

When Guest’s first born child died, he was overcome with grief. Several days later Guest went to the drug store, and Jim Potter motioned for him to come behind the counter. “Eddie,” he said, “I really can’t express to you the great sympathy that I have for you at this time. All I can say is that I am terribly sorry, and if you need me to do anything, you can count on me.”

Many years later Edgar Guest wrote of that encounter: “Just a person across the way—a passing acquaintance. Jim Potter may have long since forgotten that moment when he extended his hand to me in sympathy, but I shall never forget it—never in all my life. To me it stands out like the silhouette of a lonely tree against a crimson sunset”.

I pray that at the end of my life, people can say, when we were sick she came to us; when we needed help, she was there. She truly cared. If that’s the case, then my life would have been worthwhile.

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