Lavender Pants

The other day I sat in a hotel breakfast nook eating oatmeal with walnuts, drinking coffee with a little bit of sweetener and a whole bunch of oat milk, watching fellow travelers leave their rooms to exit the hotel.

An extended family streamed by—uncles, cousins, aunts. All were dressed up, all were dressed in black.

All were somber.

One exception? A little person, dressed in a flower top, lavender-colored pants and (likely) a chubby diaper underneath. That little spark of humanity trundled by with her hand nearly overhead to hold the hand of the adult who was guiding her quickly to the lobby with the family.

She kept up with their steps (barely).

She also beamed.

She caught my eye as she passed, and I twinkled my eyes back at her. She smiled more, and so did I.

I snuck in a tiny wave, questioning my gesture as I did it (was this respect?).

Onward this procession of grief, peppered with one little soul so there she kept her smiling eyes on mine as she and her family moved briskly out of view.