Tuesday, April 23, 2019
On Easter Sunday, in the quiet hours following the fun and frenzied egg hunt, my grandson and I move bicycles up the hill from the lower driveway near the garage. He is intending to ride. One training wheel on his younger sister's older bike is coming loose from the frame, its precarious angle not supporting an upright posture, the bike tipping easily and dangerously to one side. He abandons it, choosing another bicycle instead.
Thirty-six hours later, I am dropping off my car at the repair shop. A friend who lives in my neighborhood is waiting in her van to give me a ride home. I write my contact information and my car-complaint on an envelope, dropping my keys into the dropbox.
I am now without wheels.
Arriving home, I write “No car!” on a yellow sticky note and adhere it to the coffee pot.
I promised to be to work at the real estate office by 10am. The reminder will keep me from the mishap of walking out the door with no time to spare and discovering my car is not in the parking lot, giving in to panic, perhaps even reporting it stolen ... or at the very least frantically searching for it in the vastness of my apartment complex. But, let's not go there.
I wrote the note.
The distance, 2.7 miles, will take an hour to walk.
The friend who gave me a lift last night is willing to take me to work this morning. Others, too, are willing to help.
When I arrive at the office, the broker offers to give me a ride back to the repair shop at the close of the day. At 5:25pm I hop out of her car, wallet in hand, wave good-bye and walk into the building. As the woman behind the counter hands me my keys, she smiles and says, No charge. I am astonished and grateful. I struggle to wrap my heart and my head around this unexpected and generous gift.
Since January 24 -- 89 days ago -- God has pulled me from the depths of despair.
On this day -- day 1047 of my widowhood -- a new path stretches out before me. Am I am ready to take off the training wheels and ride?