Dear Reader,
I was waiting in line the other day, making what I hoped was my last Christmas purchase. (I thought I was finished shopping, but there's always that one last thing you forgot, isn't there?)
It was a long line and the woman behind me started making small talk. Of course we eventually got around to asking each other what we were doing for the holidays. I told her my grandchildren were coming to visit and that I'd already hung their stockings on the mantel (their names painted with gold glitter), and how I'd been digging through old recipes, because my husband wants to make fudge and popcorn balls this year.
The woman standing behind me, her holiday story wasn't festive like mine. Her husband died a few months ago and so this would be the first Christmas since his death. I could tell she felt awkward sharing her story, and felt obligated to move the conversation on, because she didn't want to dampen the storybook Christmas I was dreaming about. But everyone has their own Christmas story to tell and I wanted to hear hers, too. We talked about her husband and the memories from their Christmases gone by. There was excitement and love in her voice when she told me about the necklace her husband gave her on their last Christmas together, how they went to a farm and cut a fresh tree to decorate, and "We always made taffy," she smiled, "it made such a sticky mess, but he loved pink and red taffy."
The woman will be traveling alone when she visits her daughter this year, but in her heart is one of the greatest Christmas love stories ever told, and I'm so glad she shared it with me.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
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