Page 6 of There I Find Hope

As he walked into his condo in Chicago later that night, after dropping Franklin off, he still hadn’t gotten the idea out of his mind that he wanted to do something to help.

He’d gone through his messages, answered some emails, and done a little bit of work on his laptop before grabbing some leftovers out of the fridge and taking a shower.

He sat in front of the big window that overlooked Lake Michigan, still with Sunday on his mind.

Restless, he got up, maybe out of habit opening cupboard doors and looking in them, like something had changed since the last time he’d seen them.

When he got to his junk drawer, he saw a notebook and pulled that out.

An idea started to form, and he looked for a pen.

He couldn’t send her an email and couldn’t send her a text, because he didn’t have her email address or phone number, but Strawberry Sands was tiny. The little post office was only open for a few hours in the morning. Dorothy Miller had been the postmistress since he was a kid, and she had seemed old then. She knew everyone in Strawberry Sands, and if he got his letter to the post office with Sunday’s name on it, Dorothy would make sure Sunday got it.

That was a great idea, but as he sat down, he wasn’t sure what to say. What did he say to someone who lost their child? He wanted to make her feel better, but how did he do that?

Finally, after biting the end of the pencil for a while, he just started to write. Maybe, if it was terrible, he wouldn’t send it. But his heart was just too full for him to not do anything.

Dear Sunday,

I was at the church today for the viewing. My heart hurt. I didn’t know what to do or say. How do you tell someone that you’re hurting for them? Especially someone you don’t really know very well. But someone that your heart breaks for because you know they’re going through a hard time.

You looked so calm and strong as you stood by the casket of your son, greeting people.

I knew you years ago, and I admired you then. I admired you today as well.

I suppose being a single mom is hard, and losing your only child must be devastating. I really don’t know. I don’t have children.

I felt terrible and wanted to do something. Something to make you feel better. But what could I do?

So I stayed for a bit, but even though you were greeting people, you seemed tired. I know if I had been standing as long as you had, my feet would hurt, and I’d want to sit down. Maybe it feels good to know that so many people love you and care about you, or maybe you wanted to be anywhere else. I don’t know. But I didn’t get in line.

Instead, I went and stood beside the casket for a few moments.

Your son was handsome.

Such a sweet boy. His hair was the same color as yours, and he had your chin.

Somehow it made me smile to see the toys that lined his casket. It seemed a little sad to send him away without anything, even though I know he’s happy in heaven right now, playing with Jesus. I’m sure there are puppies in heaven. Puppies, horses, and, I don’t know, maybe he and the other kids have chariot races or something.

Do they drive cars in heaven?

Regardless, it makes my heart feel a little better to think of him there. But it gets heavy again when I think of him there and you here without him.

Anyway, I couldn’t tell you everything that was in my heart, and I left without talking to you.

Still, you were on my mind the rest of the day, so I sat down this evening and decided I would write to you.

From where I sit, I can see Lake Michigan. I wonder if you hate it now. I suppose I probably would, even though I’ve loved it all of my life. I grew up beside it, swam in it when I was a kid, boated on it as a teenager, and spent more than one afternoon having business lunches with clients on it as an adult.

I guess I’ll probably never look at it quite the same, but I’m not the kind of person who quits loving very easily. I suppose I’ll always love the lake.

Anyway, I didn’t say anything to you at the church, but this way I can say something to you while you’re sitting down with your feet propped up, and you don’t have to smile at me if you don’t want to.

Just know I’m thinking about you and praying for you, and I admire you.

An acquaintance from long ago,

Business Boy

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