Where Mercy Finds Us

Keep moving toward the light

Photos by John P. Weiss

When Susan Swanson folded onto a narrow strip of pavement in downtown Portland, almost no one slowed to notice.

Cars hissed by, flicking grit at her shoes. Pedestrians gave her a wide berth, glancing just long enough to assume the worst: another addict nodding off, another mind unraveled by the streets.

No one paused to see that her clothes were clean, her posture not slack with intoxication but stunned with grief.

Susan had collapsed because her daughter, eleven-year-old Brittany, had died before dawn.

Her world had gone silent, and the city hurried past her without a second look.

---

Joel Traynor was on his way to coffee with Kimberly White, a friend and colleague from their marketing firm. It had been a frantic morning of emails and client calls, and Kimberly wanted to celebrate landing a contract with Doernbecher Memorial Hospital.

The rain had stopped moments earlier. As she drove toward The Jitter Nest, she slowed at a red light and pointed toward a woman sitting cross-legged at the roadside.

“Look at her,” Kimberly said. “I swear I’ve seen that woman before.”

Joel leaned forward. “Maybe around town, but something feels different. She looks lost.”

He studied the woman again. Her clothing was neat. Her belongings were tidy. She looked like someone who had reached the end of something significant.

“Pull over,” Joel said. “I want to check on her.”

Kimberly was not surprised. Joel had lived through more unkindness than most children ever should. He had been born a little person, and the world is often harsher to those who stand out. Yet somehow, it only enlarged his compassion.

She parked. Joel climbed out and crossed the street toward the woman. He crouched to her level, close enough to see that her eyes were filled with tears.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Joel. Are you alright?”

The woman swallowed and looked at her hands. “No. I lost my daughter this morning. My Brittany. She was only eleven. I don’t know what to do.”

Joel felt his chest tighten. “I am so sorry. I can’t imagine your pain.”

“She was sick most of her life. It was just the two of us.”

“What’s your name?” Joel asked.

“Susan.”

Kimberly approached, and Joel said, “This is Susan. She just lost her daughter this morning.” Kimberly’s face softened. She knelt beside Susan and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

Something inside Susan gave way. She broke into sobs, folding into her hands while Kimberly gathered her into an embrace. Joel remained close, steady and present.

People passed without pausing. And then the rain began again.

---

Joel lifted Susan’s jacket from the ground and draped it around her. “Let’s get you out of the weather,” he said. “Join us for a coffee.”

Kimberly helped with her things, and the three hurried to the car. Warm air spilled from the vents, and Susan drew a long breath as the heat revived her.

Inside The Jitter Nest, they ordered lattes and sat by the window. Rain slanted across the glass.

“I realized why you looked familiar,” Kimberly said softly. “Was your daughter at Doernbecher?”

“Yes. I stayed there with her for the last two weeks.”

“That’s where I saw you. In the cafeteria. You were wearing a white sweater. I noticed because I have the same one.”

Susan smiled faintly, then looked back at the rain. There was a silence that felt natural, a silence that asked for nothing.

Sometimes company is enough, and words mar the moment.

---

When the rain eased, Susan said, “Thank you for the coffee. I suppose I should go.”

“Where?” Kimberly asked.

Susan hesitated. “I don’t know. I let our apartment go when Brittany went back into the hospital. I spent everything I had on her care.”

“Any friends nearby?” Joel asked.

“I had a few back in California, but distance and illness made them fade away. My sister is down there too, but we haven’t spoken in years.”

“And her father?” Kimberly asked gently.

“He left when he found out I was pregnant. He had dreams of a band. That’s the last I saw of him.”

Silence settled again.

Joel tapped the side of his mug. “I have an idea.”

Kimberly smiled at him. “Here it comes.”

“My house is nearby,” Joel said. “There’s a little granny flat behind it. I always meant to turn it into a photography studio, but never did. It has a bed, a bathroom, and it’s private. You’re welcome to stay while you sort through everything.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Joel said. “And Scotty would enjoy the company.”

“Who’s Scotty?” Susan asked.

“My old pit bull rescue,” Joel said. “Slow, short, sweet.”

“Like Joel,” Kimberly added with a grin.

Joel laughed. “Come see the place. Meet Scotty. Then decide.”

Some lives meet through design. Others through grace.

And some, by sheer chance, at a red light on a rainy morning.

---

Susan fell in love with Joel’s property the moment she saw it: the trees, the pond below, the quiet cul de sac. Scotty greeted her with a wag and a groan of old bones.

The air smelled of pine and damp earth.

Kimberly used her connections to help negotiate reduced medical expenses. A local mortuary waived its fees for Brittany’s cremation.

Kindness multiplies. Once it shows its face, others recognize it.

On weekends, the three of them walked to town with Scotty plodding faithfully along behind.

“If I had a saddle for him,” Joel joked, “he’d give me rides to the coffee shop.”

Susan laughed for the first time in weeks.

In late afternoons, she and Joel sat at the back of the property sipping hot tea. Susan told stories of Brittany. Joel shared what it was like to grow up as a little person in a world built too tall.

“Every ATM feels like a high shelf,” he said. “But you learn to adapt.”

Susan glanced toward a rickety wooden chicken coop at the edge of the property. “What’s that for?”

Joel smiled. “I bought this place because of that coop.”

“You wanted chickens?”

“No. When I was a kid, the neighborhood boys locked me in a chicken coop like that. They wedged boards against the door. I cried at first. Then I listened. The hens settled in and started cooing, like they were trying to comfort me. I fell asleep to their sounds. When my parents found me, the hens were still there, watching over me.”

“That’s awful,” Susan said. “But also somehow beautiful.”

“The coop taught me that you can be trapped and still find peace. So when I saw this house had one, it felt like a sign. Like something was meant to happen here.”

Susan nodded. “Maybe some things are.”

“Like us finding you that day,” Joel said.

She smiled.

Later she and Joel strolled around the property. By the garage Susan saw a small Virgin Mary statue on a shelf.

“She’s lovely,” Susan said.

“A priest carved her for me when I was a kid,” Joel said. “He felt bad after hearing about the coop incident. He thought she might bring comfort.”

“I used to pray to Mary when Brittany was sick,” Susan said. “I’m not religious, but sometimes I felt watched over. Even when I didn’t believe in anything.”

“You don’t have to believe to sense something sacred,” Joel said.

---

A few weeks later, Susan gathered the courage to call her sister. Joel and Kimberly sat beside her while she dialed.

“Diane,” she said, voice trembling, “I lost Brittany.”

Silence. Then Diane’s voice, pained and tender.

“Oh Susan. I’m so sorry. You were such a wonderful mother. Brittany adored you.”

Susan cried, and Kimberly held her shoulders while Joel placed a steady hand on her arm.

“I want to bring her home,” Susan said. “To rest near Mom and Dad.”

“Of course,” Diane whispered. “Come home, sweetheart. Come home.”

---

The evening before her flight, Susan walked one last time around Joel’s property. She touched the worn boards of the chicken coop. She paused before the Mary statue and whispered her thanks.

Joel drove her to the airport the next morning. She admitted she hated flying, and feared the emotional reckoning waiting in California.

“It will be alright,” Joel said. “I believe that.”

She swallowed. “Will you wait with me until I board?”

“I would be honored,” he said.

---

The next week, after she and Diane arranged for Brittany’s burial, Susan returned to the cemetery with flowers. As she approached the office, Mr. Griffen, the elderly manager, hurried outside.

“Miss Swanson, a package arrived for you.”

He led her inside. A tall cardboard box stood against the wall, addressed to her in care of the cemetery. She opened the small envelope attached to it.

Dear Susan,
Scotty and I decided you need her more than we do.
May she remind you that Brittany is still watching over you,
and that you must keep moving toward the light.
With affection,
Joel

Susan pressed a hand to her chest. She peeled away the packing paper and revealed the carved Virgin Mary statue, gazing up at her with a serenity that made her knees weaken.

Tears blurred her vision. Mr. Griffen hurried off to find tissues, wiping his own eyes as he returned.

For the first time since Brittany’s passing, a small pulse of hope rose through Susan’s chest. She carried the statue to her daughter’s resting place and set it beside the fresh flowers.

The cemetery oaks stirred above her, and in their shifting light she felt Brittany close again, almost as if her daughter’s spirit pressed gently against her grief, reminding her she was not alone.

Then, soft as breath, she heard Joel’s words echo back to her.

Keep moving toward the light.

Susan knelt and kissed the Blessed Mary, letting the moment wash through her like grace.

(This story is a work of fiction inspired by the accompanying photographs taken in Oregon and Washington)

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