The sky was dark, but not dark enough. I could see the weariness in my neighbor’s eyes as she told me about the breast cancer. “I couldn’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head from side to side. Her eyes darted between me and the sidewalk as we stood with our dogs both on leashes. Ache filled the space between us.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered. The words felt hollow even as they came out. Not nearly enough. Her soul needed nourishment, and here I was offering cotton candy.

She then told me how on her walk she’d been talking with God, and for a moment, I saw a flash of hope behind her tired eyes. But just as quickly, the light faded and the pain returned, revealing an exhaustion too crushing for words.

We both sighed, and I told her I’d include her in my prayers as well. We stood there a few moments longer as the dogs sniffed each other, and then we said our goodbyes.

My pup eagerly pulled me in the opposite direction, but the ache came with us. I could feel it burning in my chest with every step I took closer to home. But strangely, I didn’t mind. Nearly a decade ago, I had had my own days of grief and of disbelief, of being turned inside out, so I held her pain with reverence.

Shared humanity is a gift, no matter how bitter.

I walked in silence, deciding to forego the shortcut for the longer path home. My mind replayed what had transpired that night in the darkness. As I turned the corner toward our house, something inside me shifted. A Gentle Knowing was nearby—a familiar Presence perched just over my shoulder. 

Just like that, the hurt lessened. Hope flickered against the night sky. A holy hush filled the air. I breathed deeply and held it for a moment, letting its sweetness mingle with the pain. The burning sensation did not disappear, but I knew I wasn’t alone in carrying it.

The ache had passed between us.