|
Her husband died suddenly in an accident and she was left to raise her two sons alone. At first she was surrounded by compassionate and caring friends. They bought meals, sent cards, made phone calls, prayed. And then the weeks turned into months, and it seemed like all the world had forgotten. She longed to hear her husband's name mentioned in conversation, she longed to talk about the wide stride of his walk, the warmth of his easy laugh, and how his hand had felt so strong in hers. She wanted the neighbors to come and borrow his tools or have a grown man shoot basketballs with her sons.
It was early on the morning of the first anniversary of his death. The dew was still wet on the grass as she walked across the cemetery lawn. And then she saw it, laying next to his gravestone. Someone had been there even before her and left a small bouquet of fresh cut flowers, tied with a ribbon. A gentle caring act that reached out to her lonely heart like a tender hug. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she read the unsigned note. The three words said simply, "I remember, too." |
|
