November 30, 2004 was the day my husband passed away. I remember driving home in the rain, thinking the weather suited my mood. We had been in our new home only a month, moving from Florida to Tennessee so he could see me settled where I wanted to stay.
It was a small town and I only knew two neighbors and my realtor. One Sunday evening in early December, around six o’clock, the doorbell rang. Wondering who could be there, I peeked out and saw several bundled up strangers.
I had no idea who they were but I thought I could hear them singing Christmas carols.
I opened the door and listened as they sang, ssavoring the warmth and caring they were passing on to me.
I’m sure they had no idea I was a recent widow in a new town, but I knew I was home.
It was the right place for me to be.
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