I read a tragic story this week, and it has been on my heart ever since.

A young girl worked night shift at a gas station in the town I lived in when I first moved to Florida. She began feeling sick, and went to the local hospital. They told her she had pneumonia and sent her home. She went back to work. In a short period of time, her condition deteriorated, and she went back to the hospital…at the urging of customers that saw how sick she was.

She was diagnosed with Corona virus, and died quickly.

As I read the article and the subsequent comments, my heart broke. Here was a girl that was poor – she lived in a hotel with her boyfriend, while they tried to save for housing of some sort.

I don’t know what happened at the hospital the first time, but I hope that her care was not affected by her lack of insurance. Knowing what I know about the medical system, I am fearful she may not have had top care. I’m familiar with the facility she went to.

I know that people questioned her going to work when she was sick.

Here’s where it really got me – I was that girl.

When I was 20 I lived in that town. I worked night shift in a gas station, and worked days at a pizza joint, working the lunch rush – I worked the back, doing all the prep work, then making all the sandwiches and slinging pizzas.

At the gas station, I worked 11p-7a…alone. There was no one else that worked with me overnight.

Police came by frequently to get coffee and check on me – and they always said the same thing. “Why are you working here? You are too cute and smart to be working alone at a gas station.” Well, I was also broke. Stone flat broke.

I didn’t have health insurance. I drove a car that had over 200K miles on it, and no AC. I would drive to work in a tank top and short, hair in a ponytail, and when I got to work, I would freshen up in the back, and put on clean dry clothes.

I definitely had regular customers that came through- people are creatures of habit, and I knew what cigarettes my customers smoked, and knew a lot by name. I know many of them also came by to check on me.

I also had a toddler – which is why I worked as much as I could, 2-3 jobs for years. I was fortunate that for the gas station years, I had a room to live in with my parents.

I was living with the consequences of my choices – and I understood that. Did this mean I should not matter as much as others? Of course not. I worked hard to pay my bills and pay for the needs of my child. But I was poor.

That story was a “there but for the grace of God go I.” I understood going to work when you are sick, because you can’t afford to miss a shift.

A life has been lost – and she mattered. Her customers set up a memorial outside the gas station.

I’m glad she got the media attention…but I wish she would have gotten the care she needed.

May she rest in peace.