When my first husband died we were here in Cornwall looking for a house, living in the caravan whilst we took time to look. He had a massive heart attack and died on the spot whilst we were house hunting and I retreated to my van.
On the first day after I was still in a state of shocked bewilderment when there was a knock on my door.
It was a woman who lived near by who had heard what had happened.
I didn't know her but invited her in.
She had come to tell me that she had had a similar experience. She talked to me about the trauma and stress and how it was possible to come through it in time.
Her husband had been an Olympic show jumper. I had never heard of him but I saw that she was struggling to tell her story...so we comforted each other as we talked. It helped not so much then as later as I remembered that she had moved house on her own.
I never forgot her. When I came to live here I was not a priest. That happened a couple of years later but when I met her again I was wearing a dog collar and she didn't recognize me.
She died last week. Her funeral is tomorrow. I never saw her in church but I have no doubt that her impulse to help me was a gift from God for us both.
May she rest in peace and rise in glory.
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