Until my wife’s tragic passing, Christmas was the day of the year I loved the most. But when I lost Jenny, it turned into a sad reminder of a lost bond. Some three years after her loss, I noticed a fragile homeless woman on Christmas Eve. She was in need of help, and I gave her the groceries I had bought and my coat.
Whenever Christmas approached, Jenny and I went into a shopping frenzy for the party we organized for our family each year.
Three days before the dinner, Jenny called me on the phone to remind me to grab some wrapping paper with snowmen.
See, Jenny and I were high-school sweethearts. We didn’t have children, but still, our love was profound. I sometimes felt guilt that we couldn’t be parents, but we had each other, and that was more than enough. She was my world, and I was hers.
On that tragic night, as I was heading home with the wrapping paper and a bunch of other things for the party were looking forward to hosting, I received a call.
“Mr. Luke,” the person on the other side on the line said with a disturbed voice. “Your wife was involved in a car accident, you need to come to the hospital.”
Sadly, by the time I arrived, Jenny was already gone.
Out of nowhere, I found myself in a sterile hospital room, holding my loved one’s cold hand and crying my heart out.
Some two years later, I still couldn’t accept the reality and had a hard time accepting celebrating Christmas.
I was walking home, but I entered random stores, delaying the arrival in the apartment that felt oddly silent. Jenny’s absence could still be felt heavily, and I hated that feeling.
Wandering, I noticed a homeless woman in her forties, fragile and in need of help.
She wore mismatching clothes and sadness could be seen in her eyes.
I approached her and asked her if there was anything I could do for her. Shyly, she said no, but I knew she was cold because she was shivering. I handed her the errands I had purchased before and put my coat over her shoulders.
Offering kindness was something Jenny always practiced, and I wanted to do something nice for that woman as a tribute to my late wife who had a heart of gold.
The woman thanked me and I handed her a piece of paper with my address and phone number written on it. “Take this in case you need something,” I said and waved goodbye.
Three years passed by since that meeting that made me feel a sense of peace, when there was a knock on my door.
A beautiful woman, nicely dressed and with a smile on her face was standing at my doorstep.
“How can I help you,” I asked.
“It’s me, the homeless woman you helped three years ago before Christmas.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. “But you look so different,” I said. And that’s when she shared with me her life story. She told me how her boyfriend took her business and left her on the streets. She was done fighting, but then she met me and I showed her kindness. It was then that she realized she wasn’t done looking for justice.
Eventually, her boyfriend was found guilty of forging documents. He ended up in prison and she got her business back.
In the gray case she had under one of her arms, she had a check on $50,000. She handed it to me and told me to continue spreading kindness.
I accepted it gladly, because I knew I could continue honoring my late wife by making a change in the lives of those in need.
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