A moment from two months to the day after Bill departed from here.

June 29, 2017

I’m talking with a friend while driving, about dying and feeling like I cannot bear to live, when she comments that a part of me did die when Bill died. She feels what I am really feeling is that I want to live–to have a life after his death.

I want the sadness to stop accompanying me. She says that I need to make friends with the sorrow. 

No, I don’t like her. Not my friend, I love her. But my sorrow. I don’t want her in the room of my heart, let alone befriend her. I know one day I will need to make peace with her, somehow. Some way. 

Earlier this morning, during my run I ask God, “Can I get a special love note from him, through you today Lord?”

Maybe like the movie, PS I Love You, in which you can send me one note each month until the one-year mark?

As with many requests made in the heat of desperation, not really feeling it will happen, only hoping.

Hours later, I’ve all but forgotten about the plea as the day progressed, until we enter the grocery store for some dessert necessities. A close friend is in town for a few days to bring me through the 2nd month milestone without him, and we decide what better way than to splurge on sugar.

While walking the aisles picking up random items, we hear Bill–actually his whistle from somewhere in the near vicinity,

“Phew, phew. Phew phew. Phew phew!”

This was his special whistle–he used this call as a way to bring us together in public when we were scattered about–to reunite us with his sound distinct to him. So we would draw near.

I catch a glance at the girls, all wide-eyed at the sound, almost scared, and instantly sad.

My heart warms and a smile emerges as I tell the girls I asked for a special love note, and God gave us a special one of the musical variety. 

We never see the lips from whom gave the call.

Love that God!

Let the God of hope fill us with hope…