Her name was Janelle. I met her last December, right before the whole world went upside down. Our daughter, Lily, was 12. She saw her first. As we were waiting to turn left out of the grocery store parking lot, she said, âI think that lady needs help crossing the street.â I turned and saw her, directly across from us. It was windy and cold out. She was a little bitty woman who you might think would blow over and cartwheel down the street like a leaf if a good enough gust came along, walker and all. It might have been in the upper 30s, but she only wore a couple of shirts with a medium-weight jacket. She was so thin that the elastic cuffs at the bottoms of her black sweatpants only touched her legs in one place at a time, depending on how the wind was blowing.