I came home after spending an early afternoon with friends. In a couple of weeks, I'll be the plant keeper for a lovely woman and her husband of fifty years.
Their home was beautiful, but most of its beauty resided in the love they shared. Being recently single made the afternoon especially poignant.
They gave me a tour of their home, and with each room another chapter of their history unfolded. I listened as they shared the stories behind the walls, the furniture, the keepsakes, and the memories. I walked away feeling grateful that they were comfortable enough to invite me into their lives in such a personal way.
It also left me a little blue.
When I came home, my little house felt unusually quiet. Just a few hours earlier I had been surrounded by a couple whose love had been woven into every room. Their stories lingered with me long after I left.
I found myself grateful for the afternoon we shared, yet aware of the silence waiting for me at home. Joy for them and a touch of grief for myself somehow occupied the same space.
Perhaps that is part of healing. Learning that a heart can celebrate another person's happiness while still acknowledging its own loss. One does not diminish the other. Both can be held with grace.
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