Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
I immediately reached out and touched my cheek. “Aw,” I said out loud. I turned around to find out who had kissed me. I wondered if I had been dreaming, but no, it was so real. I literally still felt the kiss on my cheek. Cheeks still wet with tears. My chest ached from crying. My heart was buried in a dead mans chest. My beloved husband of thirty-two years had passed away. How could I go on? I asked myself. What a silly question. My husband Buddy and I, after one of the most frightening times of our lives, had both met the Lord, and because He lives, I could face the future without fear. I knew we would see each other again one day, and God comforted my heart. But…
I was so lonely and lost without the man who called me Angel Face. My daughter, Lynn, had been with us for the past six weeks. Whenever I needed her, she was there. Like the morning Buddy was so weak he couldn’t stand. He fell out of bed trying to get up and make coffee. All I had to do was yell, “Lynn, help,” and she was there. When I was too tired and exhausted to cook, she was there. During the excruciating long, midnight hours. She was there. But she had a life of her own, back with her husband. I watched her little black Honda pull out the winding drive that morning and waved until her car disappeared.
Back in the house I forced my legs to carry me up the steps of our bi-level home. One step. Then another. I kept my eyes down, not wanting to look at the place where his hospital bed had been. The hustle and bustle of the hospice workers had ended. No more seeing the smiling face of my husband after the nurse had given him a bath and a fresh shave. No more watching the nurse massage his tired and frail body. I remembered when they asked him if he would like a massage. “Yeah,” he said, “but only if my wife can have one too.” The quiet and still of that large five-bedroom home on forty acres was deafening. Until the sound of my sobbing filled the empty rooms. Exhausted, and bone weary I sat down on the couch and fell asleep, which I needed. I woke up when someone leaned over from behind and kissed me on the cheek. I sat on a couch that was shoved tight against the wall. No one could have gotten back there. The door was locked. But…someone had kissed me. I turned around to see who was playing a trick on me. I faced an empty wall.
Still, the kiss warmed my cheek. The sweetest, most pure and powerful kiss of my entire life. Was the kiss from my late husband? No, because the Bible says the dead have no power. From the Holy Spirit? From an angel? From Jesus?
I don’t know who kissed me, but I knew, in that precise moment, that God used the kiss to comfort my shattered and aching soul. The sadness that had gripped my heart seemed to evaporate like the water in my geranium pots on a hot day. I jumped up from the couch and walked to the window. There was a lightness in my step. One huge, Heavenly-Blue Morning Glory bloomed in the planter Buddy and I had built together. The first bloom from a season of nothing but abundant green leaves. The tears stopped for a while. I felt joy and a renewed strength. A whole new world to explore. That was one powerful kiss.
Posted as a guest post at elainestock.blogspot.com Dec. 26, 2014
Read the full post at Everyone’s Story HERE