A soul's sole concern

A friend of mine passed away on Erev Shavuos. Last night, her family organized a hesped for her in the synagogue where they prayed. A number of speakers related anecdotes of her life in an eloquent and moving fashion.
Two incidents stood out in my mind.
Rabbi S. spoke about her complete lack of ego with her sole concern being for the other. She was instrumental in establishing a telephone helpline for the community.
Once, a man approached her and he spilled out his troubles, explaining to her that he had no job. She listened to him and commiserated with him, but was unable to find the man a job.
She told Rabbi S. how bad she felt for not being able to help the man.
In an effort to console her, Rabbi S. told her the following story.
When the Nazi death camps were liberated, American soldiers saw the emaciated bodies of the survivors and started to give them food. Many people died when consuming the food, because they were unused to the large intake. Finally, the soldiers were issued a command that prohibited them from giving the survivors any food.
An emaciated eight year old boy went over to an American Jewish soldier and asked him for something to eat. With tears in his eyes, the soldier had to turn the child down. Instead, he embraced the boy with both arms and said, "I can't give you food, but I can give you love."
Soon, a line formed with other children, waiting to be hugged, as well. Some cried for their parents but they all were warmed by the embrace.
Rabbi S. told my friend that, although she was unable to help the man in finding a job, she had helped him by providing a listening ear and emotional support.
My friend wasn't consoled. She said that the soldier was forbidden to give the boy food, but she wasn't forbidden from helping the man find a job.
My friend's son spoke next and talked about her devotion to prayer. Towards the end, she was in a lot of pain and was very weak. Still, she wanted to pray. Too weakened to recite full prayers, she recited the letters of the hebrew alphabet one by one and said that Hashem should connect the letters to form words.
On my way home, there was a great downpour. As lightning streaked the sky, I uttered the blessing of "oseh maaseh bereishot" with great feeling. After reciting the blessing, I thanked G-d for giving me the strength to recite every word as I remembered my friend who had been unable to even form words, as she lay on her hospital bed.
It is my fervent hope that the prayers that were uttered on her behalf will pierce the heavens and that Hashem will grant her family many instances of joyful celebrations.