To The woman who held the elevator at the Bellevue Hospital

I was carrying a duffel bag and a stuffed elephant and crying. You did not ask. You held the door. You pressed the seven for me before I asked. You got off at five. I do not know your name. My son is now fourteen and healthy. I told him about you when he was old enough. He asked what you looked like. I told him you looked like a person.