After my son passed, I asked his widow, Lynn, to move out of my home. She left quietly, but later I found a letter she had written to my son before he died.
In it, she explained how she had quietly paid rent all those years to respect me and honor my son’s memory. Her calm sacrifices hid a deep love and gratitude.
Overcome with sorrow and shame, I went to her new apartment with dinner and flowers. I hugged her and whispered, “You’ll always have a home with me.” Grief may cloud judgment, but love always finds its way back.
