Thirty firefighters responded but within minutes, the entire residence was destroyed.

Lola's neighbors, who once gathered to help purchase a wheelchair ramp for her house, gathered again to clean up after the fire.

Working as an Egyptian immigrant in a predominantly white suburb, Lola took care to invite newcomers to sit at the counter with her regular customers. Her deli is the only spot in town where business executives would mix with construction workers. When her brain tumor confined her to a wheelchair, she keep working, and the customers kept coming, choosing to make their own sandwiches rather than go elsewhere.

In the days following the fire, those who knew Lola spoke of the noble role she played in making her deli a welcome place for all. "To walk into Lola's deli was a lesson in diversity, a place where ethnic culture was a matter of open communication and friendliness," said a customer. "This was one small place in greater Columbus where no one was a stranger, no matter one's background or economic status."

My mom said Lola's deli now sits empty, the lights turned off.

While I had not been to see Lola in a long time, something I now deeply regret, I will never forget her. There was the biggest person in that little deli worker, an unsung hero whose smile cut across ethic, racial and class lines. Lola was special because she gave people the courage to come together when they could not do it themselves.

My mom and I talked for a long while that day, trying to come to terms with a horrible loss. Life is so unjust, so brutal. It passes so quickly. Now for a whole community it just got a lot harder.