The old man stands in the church aisle, dazed and hesitant, confusion pouring out of his striking blue eyes. Looking down at me with bewilderment, he speaks quietly, “Do I know you?”

My first instinct is to pretend not to hear, to press his hand and go on my way, but the innocence in his eyes causes me to hesitate.

His eyes. Those eyes had early in life locked onto a pair of brown eyes, courting, cajoling, eventually marrying their owner beneath an arch of azalea boughs. They had also beheld the birth of two sons who grew up to follow quite diverse paths, one becoming an insurance executive, the other a survivalist.

The couple had sung together, prayed together for over 40 years. They had loved and they had fought, looking forward in agreement to a long and happy future together until the day her personal demons took possession of her and he could only watch in sorrow as she turned her back and walked away, out of his life. His love still held true, even throughout her accusations and bitterness.

Those eyes had seen much sorrow in their 89 years – destruction of crops, loss of land, uprooting of family, death of friends, and now the death of his only love.

They are together one last time in this tiny country church. It shouldn’t be like this. Twelve years her senior, he is the one who should be lying in the casket; she should still be lending her beauty and talents to this earth.

Upheld on either side by his grown sons, he suddenly looks down at the azalea bough he cradles in his arms, then looks up at me. “Do you know where my wife is? She said to meet her here – I need to give her these flowers to show her my love.”

I gently take the pink bough from his hand, kiss his withered cheek, and look deeply into his eyes assuring him she will always know of his love. With tears in my eyes, I leave the church and my father-in-law behind.

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Susan Giles