There are times when you connect with a perfect stranger and it’s as sweet as honey.

Recently a group of ladies and I went to visit a sick friend in Hospice care. This lovely woman is losing her battle with cancer and it’s just a matter of time before she will be sitting at the banquet table with her Maker and enjoying catching up with her friends and family who went before her.

Her tall, elderly, slender husband of some 50 years of marriage was standing by her bedside, caressing her hand while visiting with us. He was dressed in a monogrammed oxford with Wrangler jeans with a cowboy belt buckle. They owned a horse farm together and the years of work and sweat was apparent in his face and hands.
You could see the love in his eyes for his bride. Obviously this man didn’t want his girl to leave but the love in his touch and the emotion he felt for her was apparent in his eyes and it was simply beautiful. These two eighty-somethings had been together for years and you could see their special connection.

As I stood and watched their interaction, I longed to hug him and make it better for him but there was little I could do to help this stranger.

Just before we left, we gathered around our friend, held hands and bowed our heads to pray. One after another, each lady prayed for our friend. When it was my turn I felt no need to pray for her but to pray for that stranger who I was standing beside, whose hand I was holding. He was going to be left behind to grieve for his bride. He was going to have to get up each morning without his life partner. She would no longer be there to eat breakfast with him, enjoy a cup of coffee with or to help make decisions on their horse farm.
When she was gone, a part of him would be gone too.

As I began to pray, I couldn’t help but pray for him. And as soon as I said his name, he took his thumb and began caressing the back of my hand as if to offer me comfort. At that moment, two perfect strangers connected on a level we will never connect again. It was sweet. It was soft. It was special.

I may never see this man again after her funeral. Our paths never crossed before yesterday and they may never cross again. But somehow that’s okay. Life is full of special moments that we can never recapture, and that’s okay too.

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.