I have no idea how I convinced her, but somehow, I managed to talk her into spending an afternoon stomping around in the woods. If you look at this photo, you’d think she’s having a great time. What you can’t see is that she’s in pain. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time, and fifteen minutes before this picture was taken, neither did she.
That was part of who she was. She never made a big deal out of discomfort. She just kept moving, smiling, and enjoying whatever moment she was in.
At one point during our walk, I remember teasing her about the geocache we were searching for, which turned out to be less “hidden treasure” and more “mystery box filled with bugs.” We laughed about the absurdity of it all and kept going, convinced the whole thing was ridiculous and totally worth it.
Later that night, she knocked on my door with a half-smile and a curious look on her face. She lifted the side of her shirt just enough to show me a blistered rash and asked, completely serious: “Do you think this is contagious?”
I reacted like she had just unleashed something straight out of a sci-fi movie. I jumped back, threw my hands in the air, and said, “I don’t know!”
She burst out laughing and just like that, the moment turned from concern into comedy.
That question became a running joke between us. The next day, we found out it was shingles, but by then the story was already sealed into memory. Not because of what caused it, or the ridiculous story it would make, but because of how we handled it together.
What I learned from that moment is something I still carry with me: humor doesn’t erase uncertainty, but it makes it easier to stand in it together. Sometimes the strangest questions become the moments you remember most, not because they were serious, but because they were shared.
And honestly? I still smile every time I think about it.
