Words fall in the ditch when it comes to talking about love. There are none that completely express the idea. But love rather themes this widow walk, and so… here goes a try with words.
It started with a card wall. The cards, full of love, came trickling then pouring in. She asked her littlebear to start a card wall in the room so the husband and wife could feel that love every day. It grew to cover a very large space. Love.
It continued when buddies sat beside the sick brother and shared stories and truths and emotions that aren’t natural for men to share. The talk, full of love, helped him through each day. He calendared each visit and visited his calendar. Love.
It flooded the home with food and flowers and plants, journals and books and gift cards, weed wacks and plumbing repairs and paint, slippers and quilts and lotions. The smallest container to the largest pan, the gifts, full of love, met every need and every unaware-need. Love.
It carried the family through a burial, a service, empty days, what-nows. It set up chairs, arranged flowers, iced waters. The care, full of love, behind the scenes, served them so unnoticed and so noticed. That gal stores the I’m-not-ready-to-see-that-again. This fellow paid for the oh-that’s-a-fee-too? Love.
And now. Now. It holds the widow tight. It boundaries her. It keeps her. It reminds her there is more love. The net, full of love, brings her along, includes in the group, accepts her offers, takes her on outings, calls her and calls her, keeps her from falling. More than that, it overlooks her raw, it guards her heart, it holds no offense. It walks ahead kicking rocks to the side. It walks behind covering tracks. Love.
Love is an amazing power. The slightest bit motivates another step on the walk. And if this widow has a fear, it’s this: the slightest will slight and slight and slight away. As time passes, so will love.
Please don’t stop loving me. Please love me.
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