Maybe it's because I'm a grandma and a writer, but I have been giving lots of thought to the things we say to loved ones, friends, neighbors, and strangers. Life truths are often hidden amidst ordinary words like "hello," "goodbye," and "take care." We need to train ourselves to listen for these truths.

Years ago, when I learned the Air Force was sending my husband to Vietnam, I went out and found a part-time teaching job at a local church school. It was just enough work - two mornings a week - to keep my mind busy. As the year progressed I was increasingly grateful for my job.

Our daughters, then ages four and two, missed their father terribly, so terribly that our older daughter scratched the back of her legs until the skin was raw. She also started talking to herself. I couldn't make out what she was saying because she would stop talking when I was near by.

If you are a parent you know a two-year-old is a handful and our younger daughter was no exception. I lost a lot of weight chasing after our girls, teaching part-time, and being a single parent. Though I fixed healthy meals and ate lots of food, my weight dropped to 96 pounds, a dangerous weight for someone who is 5 feet 5 1/2 inches tall.

Other events made it an "interesting" year. When I was leaving a parking lot I accidentally baked into a post and put an expensive dent in our car. Houston was hit by a hurricane and several severe storms. I caught the Asian flu and was in bed for a week. Thanks to the kindness of neighbors and a school custodian, I made it through the year.

As I prepared to leave school one day the custodian came into the room to sweep the floor. He knew my husband was in Vietnam. "How are you doing?" he asked.

I thought a moment before I answered him. "Some days I don't think I'm going to make it," I answered honestly.

He stopped sweeping and looked me in the eyes. I can't conjure up his face now, but I can still see his left hand holding the broom handle and his right arm resting on the top. In his rich Southern drawl he said, "Ms. Hodgson, you're gonna make it 'cause you gotta make it."

Since we had that conversation I have thought of his comment many times. Nobody is immune from the troubles of life and I have assured myself, countless times, that I would make it, for there was no other choice. The custodian was 10 or more years older than I and he is probably gone by now. Since I never thanked him for the comfort he gave me I thank him publicly here.

I wish I could tell him that his kindness became my example. Think about what you say in a day. Are you really listening? Do you offer a laugh, a hug, a word of comfort when needed? Your casual conversation may change someone's life. I know, because one conversation changed mine.

Copyright 2006 by Harriet Hodgson