That June morning was humid at the
Veterans Cemetery. The sun hadn't yet
ascended high enough to be cruel. I
was visiting a young fallen soldier's
grave, he was only nineteen. Suddenly,
a fragile elderly woman with a crown
of white hair appeared. She was searching for her beloved son's
grave. I helped her find it. We
stood silently, respectfully. She placed lovingly fresh
sunflowers near his engraved name.
Two strangers united that morning.
The long formation of white marble
headstones stretched into the distance.
My eyes welled, my throat tightened.
I'm so thankful to God for that solemn day.