The final drop

Sometimes the thing that breaks you isn't the thing at all

Last weekend, I was schlepping through the lobby of our apartment building. Schlepping is pretty much the only appropriate word to use. Trudging also works. Two bags in one hand, a third bag in the other, which also grasped the dirty orange leash attached to our twelve pound terrier, Patty. She was pulling, as she often does, and I was stumbling behind her. It was 9:45 am and it had already been a long day. (OK, let’s be honest - it had already been a long few weeks since the beginning of 2025). I had woken early, quickly packed up and driven over an hour from our home on Long Island, dropping my husband off at JFK on my way back to New York City. I was tired and a little melancholy. There was a heaviness already in the new year that added weight to the bags and burdens I carried.

My very kind and helpful doorman David offered to help with me with my bags. That’s his job, of course, and every doorman on every shift offers to help when I walk in (even if the bag is a small grocery bag from the supermarket). I almost always gratefully refuse, “No thanks! I’ve got it.” But today, I took David up on his offer.

As we walked to the elevator we chatted about the cold and the approaching snowstorm (weather: the universal chitchat topic) and then David quietly asked, “Did you hear about Thomas?”

No, I had not heard about Thomas. Thomas - the sweetest man who worked primarily as a porter in our building. Thomas, with a gentle southern drawl , who lovingly and unfailingly asked about Patty every single time I saw him. “How’s Miss Patty doing? Where’s Miss Patty? I haven’t seen her for a while, how is she?? You tell her I was asking for her.” And when he ran into Patty in the lobby, they greeted each other like long lost lovers, Thomas sweet-talking and petting her, Patty’s stubby tail wagging furiously. To say he was an animal lover is the understatement of the century. He loved that dog more than I do.

David told me that a few days prior, Thomas had been out walking his own beloved dog Coco and collapsed on the street. By the time a neighbor found him, he had been there a while. He was transported to the ICU but he didn’t survive. He was gone.

I didn’t believe David. I had just seen Thomas the week before. He was not an old man. He was healthy and well. He was a constant presence in our building - soft-spoken, warm and exceptionally kind. David briefly explained what happened and as I stood there at the elevator, I burst into tears.

I only knew Thomas from our lovely brief interactions about my dog. I really didn’t know the man at all. I didn’t even know his last name. And yet, and yet. The sadness and injustice of his passing hit me as the elevator rose to my apartment and I cried. It was the final drop that made the cup run over.

I was reminded of a time during the earliest, darkest days of the pandemic lockdown. Our family was huddled together, bingeing old sit-coms, ordering unnecessary crap from Amazon to make ourselves feel better. The uncertainty, sadness and isolation were thick and stifling in our home. My then twelve-year old had ordered a string of LED lights to decorate her room. We had cut them incorrectly so they didn’t work, and ordered a second set. Again, we messed them up and she uncharacteristically collapsed into tears.

Showing wisdom well beyond her years, she said, “I don’t know why I’m crying, Mom. It’s not about the stupid lights, it’s just about everything.”

That’s right, sweet girl. It’s just about everything.

A kind, gentle, hard-working man, beloved by his family, his co-workers and the community in our building, is lost while simply walking his dog. And cruel, heartless and dangerous people still walk the earth unencumbered. The injustice, both about the loss of this one special soul but also about the many unfair and heartbreaking things you hear on the evening news every day, can make the final drop feel like a deluge.

So, what to do? How to face what’s left of January and the rest of 2025 with at least an ounce of hope and optimism? Perhaps we can learn from Thomas. Greet each person (and animal) with a smile, a warm touch, an exceedingly kind word. Make other people feel seen, appreciated and loved, just for being themselves. And when the cup feels a little full, let it run over. Give yourself a minute (or several) to feel those feelings, to allow them to release. And then, when you’re ready, take a lighter, stronger step toward whatever comes next