Six Months

Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay

Even during the hard times, time passes faster than you expect. It’s already been six months since my husband passed. I thought the day would bring an onslaught of tears, but not so far. My mind is busy with my to-do List and Cooper, my Brittany, wants to play and cuddle. Those ease my heartache and loneliness.

Last night I visited my son and his family. My two granddaughters both hugged me and told me how much they love me. That moment will stay with me for the rest of my life.  

Not only that, but it seems that on every trip to the grocery store I end up in conversation with another woman.

Last week, as I passed the jams and jelly section, I overheard a woman mutter, “I don’t need three jars of jam.”

I paused at the ache in her voice.

I asked, “Is the reason you don’t need three jars the same reason I don’t either?”

“Yes.”

“How long has it been?”

She answered, “Four years.”

“Almost six months for me.”

“You know what I miss the most?”

“What?”

She held out her arms. “Hugs.”

I didn't hesitate to hug her back.  

Only God could orchestrate two widows meeting in the jam aisle and exchanging hugs.

God is with me no matter where I am or what I’m doing.

“…for he himself has said, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” Hebrews 13:5.

“Dear Lord, I am forever grateful. Amen.”