25 years ago, I ordered a pizza delivery to my mom’s house. The streets were all torn up, and instead of going over there yet another time that day, I had more work and studying to do. I figured they would decline, but I asked if they would mind adding a gallon of milk to the order, and to my surprise, they agreed. This meant an extra trip to the store for them because, well, they don’t normally deliver gallons of milk. When I went to pay them the next day, I thanked them over and over again as that milk meant that I could get a few hours rest before heading back to take care of my mom, whom was in the throes of a move while dealing with a devastating terminal cancer diagnosis.

When I went in this weekend to the same pizza place to pick up dinner for my family, the memories of kindness came pouring in. No, it wasn’t about the pizza, which she couldn’t keep down anyway. It was about the kindness of strangers and the realization that, if you need help, you only need to ask. And that night I did.