I helped a man today who needed me to close his wife's accounts, as she had died just last week. He gave me a little pile of her things to discard including her debit card and it just made me sad when I looked at it.

I see the signature on her card, this is her, her hand, her fingers and her life wrote this, the black ink, it seems so insignificant, but what I see on the back of this card is her. The way she swooped the top of her B, to the thick period after her middle initial, all the details and experiences of her life and to me it’s all boiled down to her signature on the back of her debit card . . . .and now I’m supposed to shred this, a piece of her life thrown to the garbage. I have to cut it across the strip first, and it pains me to do it, it’s like putting her deeper in the ground and then throwing away proof that she existed. I just cut it and put it in the bin for shredding. I just ended the only relationship I’ll ever have with this person, her signature on this debit card and me seeing it and thinking of her, not much of a relationship. For a moment though I’m struck by how precious every life is, and how important it is to cherish everyone, not just family and friends, but people you encounter on a day to day basis. It sounds so cliché, but it’s the truth. I’ve never met this person, but I feel like I’ve somehow missed out by only learning of her through her death.