I recently stumbled upon the blog Where Am I Going, and Why Am I In This Handbasket? and it immediately became one of my new favorites. The blog’s author Katherine is able to narrate seamlessly between side-splitting hilarity and utter heartbreak. I held my breath when I saw her email in my inbox containing her guest post- I knew it was going to be good. I wasn’t disappointed. I love the message in this story. When a tragedy happens to someone we know, sometimes it can be frustrating that we can’t ease the burden of their grief. It’s good to know that the little things we are able to do really can make a big difference.

I don’t remember much about the day my mother died; it’s a blur. I remember collapsing when she was pronounced dead and throwing up on the floor of the Nurses’ Station. I remember nurses hunched over me, asking me to stop screaming. I remember falling into my father’s arms when he walked in the room, sobbing on his shoulder, and going down to sit in the Family Room as my friends and family took turns holding and hugging me.

During the days before my mom died a close friend of mine, Virginia, was one of my biggest supports. She sat in my mom’s room while I went home to eat, shower or grab a quick nap. She sat by my mom’s bedside through the night the day before she died so I could spend a full night at my apartment with my husband. She made herself available to me at all costs, making food for us, taking time off of work to be at the hospital and offering me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen with.

She came to the hospital as soon as she got the news and to my apartment afterward to sit with me while my husband made phone calls. That evening, my mother’s boyfriend treated several of my friends and family members to dinner and we stayed at the restaurant long after closing, drinking wine, laughing, crying and sharing memories of my mother. Virginia was there, and she came back to my apartment with me, staying up to talk to me for a bit before falling asleep on our couch.

The next morning my husband and I had to meet with the lawyer at 9am, and as I walked out the door I couldn’t help but be embarrassed about the state of our apartment; it was a disaster. Dishes were stacked in and around the sink, the garbage was overflowing, clothes were piled everywhere and the cat box desperately needed changing. I apologized to Virginia for the mess and told her to lock the door on her way out.

As we drove home that afternoon, exhausted after meetings with both the lawyer and funeral director, I remembered how messy our apartment was and began to dread going home. All I wanted to do was fall into bed but I knew I’d have to at least wash the dishes and tend to the litter box before I could. I braced myself as I turned the key in the lock.

To my shock, the apartment was spotless – so clean, in fact, that I checked the number on the door to make sure we had the right place. Virginia had cleaned from top to bottom before she’d left – she’d conquered the mountain of dishes, changed the cat box and garbage, folded our clothes, swept the floors and watered the plants. She’d left a little note on our coffee table telling us to take a nap.

I burst into tears.

I will never, ever forget that. Much of that time in my life is a blur but I will always remember the overwhelming feeling that someone cared enough to help me out like that. I was amazed then, and I’m amazed now, that I have a friend who is so selfless and genuinely kind. Her taking the time to clean my apartment meant more to me than I could express to her and it’s that kind of ‘random act of kindness’ that, since then, I’ve always tried to pay forward to others.

- Katherine, from Where Am I Going, and Why Am I In This Handbasket?