Funerals are for goodbyes. But sometimes, they’re for hellos, too.
At my father’s service, an elderly woman in a wedding dress walked down the aisle. At first, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw my mother’s face—she knew exactly who this was.
“Daniel promised he’d see me in white,” the woman said. “I kept that promise, even if it took fifty years.”
She told us about their love, cut short by war. About the military’s mistake that made her think he was dead. About the day she saw him in a grocery store, alive but no longer hers.
“I never married,” she said. “Not out of spite. Just… because my heart never moved on.”
My mother stood and hugged her. No anger. No jealousy. Just two women bound by the same love, separated by time.
That day, I learned that love doesn’t always fit neatly into boxes. Sometimes, it lingers. Sometimes, it waits. And sometimes, it shows up at a funeral in a wedding dress, just to say, “I never forgot you.”
