I was just in the kitchen preparing some sofrito and I heard the wailing, the desperate wailing of a toddler from the neighbor next door. It was so desperate, anguished, pure.

I wiped a tear from my eye.

So beautiful.

The sobs lessened through the soft placating tones of their mother. You can play with it when you wake up. The toy will still be there.

It could have been a dirty diaper, a lost ball, the dog ran away from your fur grabbing hands, the grass was itchy, a bug bit you, the sun was in your eyes, somebody splashed water from the pool. It could be anything.

I know it’s tiring, a child’s cry sows chaos all around. It can wear on you. Sometimes you don’t know what it’s all about and the parental detective skills are put their limits, but a hug, a caress, and soft words are all it takes for the anguish and desperation to fade.

It is beautiful to me, for some reason, and so easy, so simple to see and so easy to cure.

I think there’s a lesson there.

As we age, our anguish takes other forms, I think. We act out in ways we don’t understand. We hurt others, because we don’t know why we hurt. Existence is painful. I get that.

Please, please, can we see each other as small anguished children? Can we use those same soft words of love and tenderness to soothe the hurt?