Years ago I used to own a deli. For some reason that I still can't figure out, people used to come in to eat and pour their hearts out to me and my role became similar in ways to that of a bartender. I suppose in a way the only thing different from my deli and a bar, is that in a bar the truth serum is alcohol, while in my deli it was food.

My deli was a regular establishment for many living and working in the neighborhood, and Steve, a landscape architect who worked across the street, was one gentleman who used to come in regularly to chat. Steve was a nice guy, and we used to talk mostly about music since he was an excellent drummer. With regular diners like Steve, when they are absent it is noticed, and I began to wonder what happened after Steve did not show up for a few days. When I asked his co-workers they seemed to always change the subject abruptly, making me feel even more uneasy.

After not seeing Steve for about a week, he came in to my deli one day, but it was immediately apparent that he didn’t have his usual disposition. “What’s up?” I asked. To which he replied, “My wife was diagnosed with cancer and it doesn’t look good.” He then explained further, “I have four daughters, the youngest being six and the oldest fifteen, and no health insurance.” Boy that really sucks, I thought to myself. I told him if he needed any food, or if I could make any meals for him, I’d be more than happy to help. After all, it’s no big deal to make some extra meatballs, ziti, or chicken, for a man carrying around such a great burden.

About two or three months passed since I heard the news about Steve’s wife, and each time he came into the deli I tried my best to comfort him and offer words of sympathy and encouragement. One day, he told me that there was very little time left for his wife and asked if I’d say some prayers. I naturally obliged, until a few days later when I heard from his co-worker that Steve’s wife has past on. I heard that Steve was actually relieved to some extent, since his wife was suffering a great deal.

After a period of grieving, Steve returned to my deli and I tried to offer words of consolation and express how sorry I felt for his loss. He then shared with me a story that occurred on the day of his wife’s funeral. After the burial, everyone went back to Steve’s house to celebrate the life of his wife. His youngest daughter was outside riding her bicycle in front of the house when she looked up and saw one of those helium-filled party balloons descending down to her. She rode her bike to chase and grab the dangling balloon string and as she reached up and pulled it to herself, she saw the message imprinted on the floating balloon. It read, “Thinking of You.”

Soul Graffiti is about acts of kindness that leave a permanent mark on another soul. I believe that after death, although we are no longer physically here, our souls still communicate with those who are, and that an everlasting imprint from an act of kindness or love, truly does remain forever. Knowing Steve and his family, I’m sure his wife was thinking of them, and their expressions of love in her final days left an eternal imprint.