Our wedding day would be soon: October 27.
All of the invitations had been sent out; the music was chosen and our honeymoon was all arranged.
Then, Bruce was gone. I didn’t know it at the time, but I prayed for him as he was dying. I found out the next morning at 4:30 when the police officer came to my door.
The people at the store where my wedding gown was being kept were most gracious and kind. So was the woman at
the flower shop and the bakery.
Numb. I felt so dead within.
Then, tears would not stop, even when I was exhausted from crying.
I felt God carry me for three months. Not physically in the usual sense, but tangibly.
Anesthesia gave way to a wide array of emotions, which eventually softened.
I knew I would be single for a while, so I enrolled in a university and earned a Masters degree.
Having a new focus helped. I could begin to put my life back together and find new dreams. Healing seems to happen that way.
I was afraid I would forget Bruce, but I never have. He is a precious memory in my heart; a pearl of great value.