In the last eighteen months, I’ve unexpectedly found myself in three very different situations, in three very different places, helping complete strangers in distress. None of these moments lasted more than ten or fifteen minutes. But each one left me shaken, reflective, and—somehow—grateful. Here’s what happened.
Rome, Italy: A Fall in the Gardens
It was a perfect Roman day. I was strolling through the Villa Borghese gardens, where locals and a few tourists meandered among fountains, sculptures, and trees in full bloom.
Ahead of me, an elderly woman pedaled a bicycle slowly down the path. Another cyclist drifted too close, and I watched—helpless, in slow motion—as she swerved, panicked, and toppled over. She hit the pavement hard, landing on her back and striking her head.
She began shouting—loudly and rapidly—in Italian. Knowing no Italian, I couldn’t understand a word.
But I was close. I knelt beside her and took her hand, trying to offer comfort. Her head was still on the pavement, so I folded up some paper tissues from my pocket and gently placed them between her head and the ground.
My hands were quickly streaked with blood.
A crowd gathered. Everyone was talking at once, in Italian. I was a stranger to the language, to her, and to them. I tried to speak calmly in English, but she seemed not to hear. She was shouting, scared, disoriented.
I saw someone pull out their phone—presumably to call for help. No one else came close. I stayed, kneeling, holding her hand.
Eventually, she quieted a little. A man next to me, hearing I was an American, told me not to worry about her. “I’m a veterinarian; scalp wounds bleed a lot. She’s certainly conscious. She will be okay.”
When the ambulance finally arrived, I slipped away—anonymous, silent, with blood on my hands. Perhaps I had comforted her a little. But there was nothing more I could do.
Vermont, USA: The Pharmacy Snap
I was at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. The wait line was long. In a chair by the counter sat a young woman, visibly agitated. She was asking repeatedly about when her medication would be ready.
I chatted with her for a bit. Something seemed slightly off, but nothing alarming. She was coherent, just anxious.
My name was called. I walked up to the counter.
Then—a scream. A crash.
She had picked up the credit card terminal in the next booth and slammed it down on the counter with full force. Pieces of the broken terminal flew everywhere.
Everything froze.
A pharmacist shouted at her. Tension spiked.
Suddenly, a man and woman—strangers to her, like me—appeared and gently led her away from the counter, speaking to her calmly, with full attention and no judgment.
The staff debated calling the police. The assistant quietly filled my prescription. I paid.
As I left, the couple was still there, talking gently with the young woman, trying to keep her grounded.
I walked out into the cold air, holding my medication, wondering what would happen to her.
Boston, USA: Christmas Day Crash
It was Christmas Day, 2024. Our family was visiting my daughter in Boston. I needed to fetch something from our nearby apartment, so I stepped outside.
The streets were completely deserted.
Then I saw it: a car parked up ahead on the pavement at a strange angle. Something felt off.
As I approached, I saw the car had run into a chainlink fence. There was a woman slumped over the steering wheel.
I pounded on the window. No response.
I hesitated—should I call 911 immediately, or get help first?
I ran back to the house. One of my granddaughters called 911. The rest of us raced back to the car.
The doors were locked. We banged on the windows. Finally, the woman stirred.
My daughter spoke to her through the glass, eventually coaxing her into unlocking the door.
The car reeked of alcohol. A half-empty bottle sat in the center console.
The woman sat up, groggy. Not physically hurt, just out of it.
We waited with her until the police and an ambulance arrived.
By the time I returned from my apartment, the ambulance was gone, and she was being helped into a police car. The only people left were the neighbors, standing near their damaged fence. They had heard a noise but hadn’t investigated until the emergency vehicles arrived.
“She was lucky you came by,” one of them said. “Who knows how long she would’ve stayed there otherwise?”
Common threads
These three events couldn’t be more different: a bike accident in a Rome park, a breakdown in a Vermont pharmacy, a Christmas morning crash in a Boston street.
But they share some strange similarities:
- In all three, I happened upon a stranger in crisis.
- In each, I was one of the first—if not the only—person to intervene.
- And each time, I felt the limits of what I could do.
I didn’t have the language in Rome. I didn’t feel capable of dealing with the woman’s outburst in the pharmacy. And I didn’t know how to help a drunk woman on Christmas morning.
But I was present. I stayed.
Some reflections
- Sometimes, the most helpful thing is simply staying with someone. Being a calm presence. Taking a hand. Saying a few words. Listening.
- You don’t have to have answers. In each case, I couldn’t fix the problem. But I could witness it—and offer my presence.
- Help often comes via community. In the pharmacy and at the crash site, others stepped up, too. Quietly. Without fanfare. As if we’d all instinctively remembered what it means to be human.
- The right place and time matter. Serendipity plays a role in who gets help—and when. I don’t take credit. I was just there.
What an amazing account, Adrian. As you say, it really does all begin with being present and being human — and I’ll add that we’re in a time when that’s more important than ever. In all three instances, those strangers were lucky to have you nearby.
Thank you, Mitchell. Being present and being human sums it up! I believe that many would do the same as I, and, again, want to emphasize that I was a peripheral witness to what I shared in this post.