In order to move beyond their dark days, most people with depression master the lesson on how to make lemonade from lemons.

For Valentine’s Day, here’s a romantic tale on just that: how a friend of mine turned an embarrassing situation into the best thing that ever happened to her…

Back when I began my writing career drafting instructions on how to bury St. Joseph (he’s known to make real estate sell) as part of the “St. Joseph’s Home Sales Kit” for Roman, Inc., a religious giftware company in the suburbs of Chicago, I befriended a woman who worked in the IT department. Aneta, a spritely Polish babe, handled the technological emergencies of computer-challenged folks such as myself who might, say, send an off-color joke to the entire company by accidentally pressing “Reply All” to an e-mail.

Aneta and I rode the same train to Roselle, Illinois. One morning on our train ride, Aneta filled me in on why she wasn’t driving to work. On December 7th, 1994 (the anniversary of Pearl Harbor), she had crashed her car into the front of Pick Kwik. The fire department was immediately dispatched. For most of the guys, her wreck was worth more laughs than an episode of “Seinfeld.” As if Aneta wasn’t humiliated enough.

One paramedic, however, didn’t mock or jeer. He sat down next to Aneta and told her not to feel bad.

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