Every morning at 6 a.m., a black sedan circled the lot. Young man driving, grandmother beside him—frail, exhausted. Chemo, I figured. He’d drop her off, then spend 20 minutes searching for parking.

 

One day I asked, ‘What time tomorrow?’

 

‘6:15?’ he said.

 

‘A-7 will be empty. I’ll save it.’

 

‘You can do that?’

 

‘I can now.’

 

Next morning I stood in that spot. Cars honked and circled. I didn’t move. When he pulled up, he asked,

 

‘Why would you do this?’

 

‘Because she needs you with her, not out here stressed.’

 

He cried—right there in the lot.

 

Word spread. A father with a sick baby. A wife visiting her dying husband. A son terrified of oncology. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, saving spots for families in crisis. People stopped honking.

 

They understood someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.

 

One morning a businessman yelled, ‘I have a meeting!’

 

‘Then walk,’ I said. ‘This spot is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to drive.’

 

He sped off. The woman behind him hugged me. ‘My son has leukemia. Thank you for seeing us.’

 

The hospital tried shutting me down—until the letters poured in. Dozens.

 

“Raymond made our worst days bearable.”

 

“He gave us one less thing to break over.”

 

They made it official: Reserved Parking for Families in

Crisis. Ten blue spots. And they asked me to run it.

 

My favorite moment? A man whose mother survived returned with a wooden box he built. He mounted it beside the spots. Inside: tissues, prayer cards, breath mints, a note—

‘Take what you need. You’re not alone. —Raymond & Friends’

 

Now people leave blankets, snacks, chargers—small gifts of love.

 

I’m 73. I direct traffic. But I’ve learned this: healing doesn’t always start in an operating room. Sometimes it starts in a parking space—when someone says, ‘I see your struggle. Let me carry a piece of it.’

 

So pay attention. Someone near you is drowning in the small things while fighting the big ones.

 

Hold the door. Save the spot.

 

It’s not glamorous.

But it’s everything."

 

-Mary Nelson