When I was eleven years old, I got a spider bite that turned purple. Naturally, my mom took me to my doctor to get some medication for it to help heal my swollen leg. The next day, I broke out in hives. As a small child who never had severe allergies, having my body covered in an itchy rash was a scary experience. I remember nervously sitting in the waiting room, back to see my doctor again, uncertain about what was happening to me. It was then that a little girl, maybe three or four years old, ran up to me and changed my life.

She came up to me just to smile and say hello. I returned the greetings, but her mom told her to leave me alone because she said I was sick. Of course, that little girl did not yet know how to differentiate various forms of illness; to her, “sick” was just associated with coughing and sneezing. As a result, she sauntered over to a nearby box and presented me with one fluffy, white tissue, proudly exclaiming, “Tissue!” in her soft, sweet voice. After five years, my encounter with this little girl, whose name I would never come to know, is still fresh in my memory.

Later on, when the coronavirus pandemic sent me into a period of extended solitude, I began spending more time exploring my thoughts through poetry and pondering. I would lie in bed at night wondering what it is that can ground humans in happiness during such dark times. Why does life go on?

Looking to answer my question I was, and still am, met with a list of names: Mom, Dad, Brandon. Kristyn, Natalie, Ashley. Nicole, Caitlyn, Addison. Why, my life goes on because there are so many people in the world worth living for! These are the people who taught me that love is just about being there for someone, helping someone, teaching someone. It’s the little things these people have done for me, or even said to me, that have made the greatest impact on my life. Perhaps it is because it takes a willingness to do little things before one could consider doing big things for others. Perhaps it is because little things appear bigger to me in low emotional times. Perhaps it is because I know these little things represent a bigger love. 

I do not know why these little acts of love by these people have left such a profound impact on my life. But I know that when I was eleven years old, I got a spider bite that turned purple. And the part of that experience that has stayed with me most is the little girl who presented me with one fluffy, white tissue, proudly exclaiming, “Tissue!” in her soft, sweet voice.