The following Saturday, I brought two lawn chairs. Mike was already there. We sat together. He told me about Kaylee’s dreams. About her kindness. About her strength.
It became our ritual. Every Saturday. Mike and I. Sitting with Sarah. Sometimes talking. Sometimes just being there.
Last week, Mike brought Kaylee. He laid flowers on Sarah’s grave. He cried.
“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered. “I won’t waste the life you gave me.”Mike is no longer a stranger. He’s part of the family. He takes care of my children. He helps around the house. His wife bakes cakes for my daughter.
We’re connected now. Thanks to Sarah. Thanks to grace. Thanks to love.
People might find it strange: a widow and a motorcyclist in front of a grave every Saturday.
Leave them alone.
I know the truth.
