“Last spring I lost my husband, Thomas, to cancer, and I feared my pain would crush me. People said it would get easier with time, but when our 37th wedding anniversary rolled around several months after I lost him, my grief felt as raw as it had that first day. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I rattled around the house, staring at photos, touching his old guitar... feeling lost.
“By that afternoon, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer so I walked to the park. There, sitting on the bench where Thomas and I had shared many loving afternoons, was a man playing a guitar. He smiled at me and started strumming ‘Misty’—the very song my husband always played for me. I gasped and listened as chills feathered my skin. When he finished, I thanked him and began to walk away, but then I turned back to tell him how much the song meant to me...and he was gone.”
—Melissa Markstrom, 66, Flint, MI
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