John's father left this earth last Christmas, and his mother has been lonely without him. She filled her days with making tea and puttering in the kitchen, visiting her children and reading the Word. But Oliver was the light of her life and the hole he left behind was not to be filled with conversations across the supper plates or reading to great grandchildren. 

Waiting became increasingly hard, and last night her dreams of him came true. Rachel did not wake up this morning. 

Their life was not an easy one, in that they lost their house to bankruptcy, and struggled to care for a dozen foster children after their own seven were grown. But it was simple in its integrity.

Love God. Love each other.  

Their lives were knit together like an afghan. The absence of his words and body after sixty five years of sitting side by side, and holding hands under the table, and whispered prayers at nightfall felt darker than the empty room she sat in. Alone. 

Memories, even six decades of them, cannot keep the solitude at bay for long. She knew that he was getting younger even as she was sinking older. Rachel wanted to see what he was seeing, learn from his lips about the ideas he was absorbing, bask in the smile that he saved for her.

Alone.