Just when I need it most, I feel like I am touched by angel wings that flutter about me like a soft caress. Yesterday, a young women I didn’t recognize approached me at an event, gave me a hug, and said, “Do you remember me? I came to your house after Niko died.”
She had matured, and her flaming hair flowed around her head like a halo. “Yes,” I said, tears in my eyes. “You came with two other girls, and helped my daughter and I select songs for Niko’s memorial CD.”
We talked about Niko, his generous nature, his magical laugh, his ability to draw friends together in a warm embrace, his untimely death. She smiled, bittersweet, when I asked her how she was doing. She was doing well, and coming to terms with the disease that killed my son, alcoholism. “I’m three months sober,” she said. “And this time, I’m going to make it.”
Our meeting felt like an early Christmas present, and we exchanged numbers and plan to keep in touch. For me, hearing my son’s name, and talking about what a gift he was in our lives, was the greatest gift for me, one I can re-open on those dark days when nothing makes sense, one I will hold in my heart and cherish.