A shell of a woman.

A few days ago, my mother and I, had just visited my grandmother and were in the supermarket. We were about to pay for our groceries when an old lady joined the line. My mother greeted her and asked her how she was doing.
There was no need to ask how she was doing, really. I could tell that she was broken, falling apart. She seemed hollow as if her pain had eaten her soul. Now, she seemed nothing more than a shell, where a woman once used to be. 

I did not know her. I had never seen her before in my life but I immediately knew who she was. This was the woman my mom had told me about. Her husband had suddenly became ill and had passed away too soon and obviously has taken a part of her with him. 
It almost became hard for me to breathe. Her pain was hanging around her like a thick smothering cloud. She stood there, staring into nothing, her groceries in a firm hold, as if she was in another world, surrounded by darkness and had became a part of that darkness.
 I turned to her and gave her my condolences. As I felt her pain, I hoped it would take a bit of it away. As they say: 'A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved', but I didn't know her. I did not know  what I could possibly say or do to make her feel better, but I felt like I had to try. 

As my heart became heavier and heavier in her company I tried to think of something. I
 wanted to put my arms around her, but that didn't seem appropriate, so  I considered it but then I didn't. I wanted to ask her if she has children and grandchildren to remind her that she has reasons to live, but I didn't.

She got into her red car and left. 
I took a part of her pain from her.
I took a part of her pain with me, 
as we drove away.