Before my son was born, my husband and I discovered a little Mexican restaurant in a less than desirable location. However, the food was excellent and we started to go there nearly ever Saturday morning for breakfast. Along came our son a year or so later and so we would bring him in his carrier and set him on the table until he grew out of the carrier. Each time we went, we got the same waiter and he always remembered us; we always ordered the same thing. Over the years, this waiter saw us develop more wrinkles and saw our son grow taller, but he never changed and he never seemed to age to me, either. He was always kind to us, and very professional. We never asked him about himself or had any conversation beyond what we were ordering. We never reached out to him or asked him how his family was. We never got past that invisible barrier that sometimes exists.

One day last year, he went into his garage and hung himself. As the story was told to me, his hope ran out after his wife left him. Until we heard the news, we never even knew his name. I now know that his name was Juan.

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