It was a sunny autumnal day with a touch of morning frost in Asheville, North Carolina. I was sipping apple juice at the donor refreshment table at the Red Cross. She looked to be in her late sixties, petite with coarse gray hair pulled back with a faux tortoiseshell barrette, wrinkled brow over welling hazel eyes. She sat by me, eyeing her small-framed husband rising from his donation gurney. He held up his thin arm as the nurse wrapped the inner area of his elbow with royal purple gauze. His wife was frustrated and spoke to me quietly. "I wanted to give blood today too, but I didn't have enough iron." Feeling left out was written in every detail of her crestfallen face. I was so moved by her caring. I reassured her by telling her it was noble of her, a senior citizen, to try to give her blood, she wanted to save lives that day and was thwarted. Many younger and stronger people never try to donate blood. They won't ever have the donor's glow of a special altruism. I patted her dainty hand, smiled, as her husband walked up. He had my respect too. I wished them both well. As I walked to my car, I thought they were so giving - with elder benevolence. ~