Page 21 - Holding Hands

Holding Hands
Winston and Adele.
As I turned onto my old street, I immedi-
ately noticed, several blocks away, a man shuffling along with his head down. As I got closer, I knew it was Winston. He wasn’t pushing Adele.
I pulled over and stopped the car, wonder- ing if I should get out and greet him or not. He wouldn’t have seen me if I had decided to continue on my way. Without thinking about it further, I turned off the car, climbed out, and walked across the street and waited as Winston approached. His head was down and he didn’t notice me standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
Finally, when he came within fifteen feet of where I was standing, I said, “Hello Winston!” He looked up at me, quite startled. Then a warm, gentle smile broke at the corners of his small mouth. He seemed pleased to see me. We stood there looking into each other’s eyes for a few mo- ments without feeling any awkwardness. I had known Winston for more than sixty years, and yet I hardly really knew him at all. Never-the-less, I considered him my friend—my life-long friend, you could say.
After several moments, he plunged his hands deep down into his pockets and looked down to the ground.
“Adele’s with the LORD now.” He didn’t look up, and I remained silent.
“I’ve been taking my morning walks alone now for three months and five days... today’s the ninety-sixth day...” and his voice trailed off.
My heart began to ache as I could sense the
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