Kindness of strangers

We attend the same parish as I grew up in. I was baptized, received First Communion, and my first Confession there. That's where Dale and I were married--by the same priest, even.
All of our kids have been baptized there, and that's most likely where they'll receive their early sacraments, too.
Just because we're longtime regular members, though, doesn't mean I know everyone there. My mom tells me about various Adventures in Bingo of neighbors ("You know Rose, she lives down the street...") but to recognize them is asking too much.
Apparently, people know who we are. I was recognized by an older lady in the lingerie department of a local store. "You go to St. [Name], don't you? Ten o'clock? You got the three little ones, two girls and the boy. They're so cute."
In November 2004, Dale happened to be gone two weekends in a row. The first he was out west visiting his brother before deployment to Kuwait, the second was Opening Day of firearm season. The first my mother met me and the kids at mass, the next my mother-in-law was with me and the kids.
A lady with whom I've never spoken came up to me before the recessional was quite over. "Is your husband all right?"
I assured her he was fine and explained his absence. I was touched that this complete stranger would be paying enough attention to notice and then would be concerned enough to ask.

That's kind of how I feel about all the prayers and kind words lately.

And Milehimama, if you're reading this, I thought it was too long to leave in your comboxes. You never know who's watching--to the good. You're in my prayers, too.