I found this dresser on a local trading site, sold by a Jamaican lady named Missy who greeted me with the familiarity and warmth of her country of origin and readily shared her wows, dreams, frustrations and medical conditions within the five minutes we spent together. She wants to live in Costa Rica with her sister, she’s displeased with her sons, has a headache, high blood pressure and everyone relies on her to sort out their lot in life. It was love at first sight right there in her garage on a cold winter evening. The kind of transient but deeply relatable connection that two strangers can make in a fleeting moment. She was seated on a white plastic chair talking about her son who was hovering only steps away from us while I examined the dresser I wanted to buy – which looked much better than the pictures she posted.

When I left, pleased with the find and excited to fix it all up, I gave her a hug and tried to put as much healing energy as I could summon, hoping that all her wows will be gone and someday she’ll make it to Costa Rica.

Missy is the type of strong, resilient woman who sings a needy tune but can raise a village and take on just about anything that’s thrown her way. That’s her script, the story she’s told one time too many in her quest for sympathy, but she’s all fire underneath. Fierce and lovable. The kind of woman that communities are built around, who can bring about the loaves of bread and plenty of fish for everyone to thrive, who would take a stranger in and share her house just as likely as she’d scold another for falling short of her expected outcome.

Wherever you are, Missy, you won’t fade into the background. Your presence and your contribution take space, and expand far beyond a fleeting encounter, like we had. You gave me more than an old dresser because I walked away touched by your spirited hold on life and inspired by your feisty, though love.