Sometimes my newfound empathy is all about me.

From She Lost Her Husband. I Lost My Wife. Now We’re a Couple. by Marty Goldensohn.  

I have mellowed, too. Less testosterone is a factor, but mostly it’s mortality. I’ve learned that we are all just on loan to each other so, more than ever, I treasure time with family and friends. I’ve become softer. Whatever I say or do, I try to lead with love.

The list of the missing grows fast nowadays. I identify with those who’ve suffered losses and reach out to them, even strangers. Once, when I was at the Milano Market on Broadway waiting in line to buy lunch, a small, gray-haired woman behind me asked what I was going to order.

“I don’t know yet,” I said.

“They have 157 kinds of sandwiches here,” she informed me. The menu confirmed this.

With a touch of sadness in her voice, she added, “My husband liked the 37.”

Number 37 turned out to be roast beef on a baguette with sweet peppers and fig jam. I ordered one, and in sympathy, asked when her husband had passed away.

“No, he’s fine,” she said. “He just doesn’t like the 37 anymore.”

Sometimes my newfound empathy is all about me.