Tap-tap-tap. I rapped lightly on the driver’s window. The glass lowered, and the driver peered at me, a puzzled look on her face. I spoke directly to her passenger, the young widower who’d just exited the church following his wife’s funeral. They were preparing to go to the cemetery for the burial.

Although I knew his four young children were seated behind him in the minivan, my focus remained fixed solely on him.

“Hi Nolan*. I’m here on behalf of Robert,” I began.

With those words, both he and the driver instantly came to attention. I continued, “He asked me to come and to give you a hug since he was unable to be here.” Immediately the man leaned across and took hold of my hand, maintaining his firm grasp for the rest of our conversation.

“And you are?” he queried.

“My name is Nancy Kidd,” I offered, hesitating as I tried to figure out the best way to explain my presence. After all, I was a stranger to him and to everyone else involved in this event.

How I got there

The day before I’d received a phone call from my son who was living hundreds of miles away. Because of his busy work schedule, I thought he’d decided to call a day early to wish me a happy birthday.

Instead, he was calling to ask a favor.

“Mom, what are you doing tomorrow?” he’d asked. “Do you have special plans for your birthday?”

When I assured him I was free, he asked if I would consider going to a funeral for the friend of a friend of a friend. 

Apparently, he’d heard through social media from a friend/former classmate who was trying to help a friend of hers. At the time her friend was working in Africa as a missionary doc. He’d put out a plea looking for someone in our vicinity to attend his best friend’s wife’s funeral.

Oh no! Why had I told my son I was free?

Funeral concerns

A funeral—and for a total stranger? I could probably have come up with a hundred things I’d have preferred to do that day. 

I may not always display it, but I often feel awkward and shy in unfamiliar social situations. Plus, I don’t particularly enjoy attending funerals of people I actually know. And I imagined I’d feel like an intruder showing up at the service of someone I’d never met. 

Although I’d told my son I had no plans, still it was my birthday.  

Before I had time to come up with a rational-sounding excuse, he said, “I can only think of one other person who would likely do this for a stranger—your mom.”

That statement was all he needed to set the hook and reel me in. At that point, I knew I had to try.

Mama memories

My sweet mama. For our family, she’d been the benchmark on how to treat others. Always operating from a place of love, she seemed to know instinctively what others needed. Without waiting to be asked, she reached out naturally to help. Her efforts were the embodiment of joy in selflessness.  

When I awoke the next morning, I was feeling a nervous flutter. Could I actually do something that far out of my comfort zone? As much as I’d like to be like her, I am not my mother. 

It would have been easier if there’d been a visitation scheduled before the funeral. I could have handled that easily enough. But there was no visitation, just the funeral. How would I ever manage to connect with this man and pass along the friend’s condolences?

As feelings of uncertainty and anxiety mounted, thoughts of looking for a way out began to creep in.

Then as I did most mornings, I went to my computer to check my email. There I found something special, an email from the doctor in Africa. It was a tender note that spoke of the deep love and the heartache he felt for his friend. Reading his words stopped my backwards slide and even bolstered my sense of purpose.  

I had no idea what to expect, what the funeral would be like. So, I printed the email, put it in an envelope, and hoped desperately I’d find a way to deliver it to the grieving husband. 

Hurdles

As the morning continued to unfold, I found myself facing one hurdle after another. With the appearance of each one, my discomfort returned and steadily increased. Each time my determination began to waver. And yet, I somehow was able to deal with every challenge one at a time.

One option I’d considered was to arrive at the church early and maybe find the widower before the service began. That way I could relay the message, hand him the email, and be on my way.

I arrived at the church early but was unable to find a parking spot in the church lot or along any streets for blocks around. Driving round and round, I longed for an open space to miraculously appear. After many minutes ticked away and none materialized, I considered giving up.

Instead, I decided to drive to my husband’s workplace and have him drive me back and drop me off. Although the service had already begun when I arrived back at the church, there were many like me still filing in. Entering the large sanctuary, I managed to slip into a rare open seat from a side pew.

Surveying the packed crowd, I wondered how I’d ever be able to deliver the message and the hug I intended to offer. I couldn’t even see the widower. I finally caught a glimpse of him near the end of the service, but he exited with his children and was nowhere to be found when I finally made it outside. 

Must press on

At that moment, I seemed to realize I’d come too far to give up then. I’d found a way to get there, and I’d sat through a beautiful service honoring a remarkable woman I’d never met. And now I was motivated to find a way to the finish line.  

Fortunately, I spotted a woman who’d spoken during the service. I made my way through the crowd to her and asked if she might know where I could find Nolan. She pointed me to a minivan at the far edge of the parking lot.

I walked over to the vehicle, intent on finishing what I’d started out to do. Our conversation was brief, and my words were insignificant. As I prepared to leave, I handed Nolan the envelope containing the heartfelt email his friend had sent me.

Walking away, I finally released the tension I’d been holding on to all day. Gone was the worry and uncertainty. I found myself starting to soar with euphoria, the result of profound gratitude. 

I had been given a bit role to play in an extraordinary experience. 

I’d helped join two best friends during a time of unimaginable sorrow. When they needed each other most, those friends living on two different continents and separated by a vast ocean were able to connect. 

And I was blessed to share in it. 

Words of comfort

The email I’d placed in Nolan’s hands contained precious words of comfort from his dearest friend. He would be able to pull them out whenever he needed them. And he could read them over and over again, clinging to their loving, healing balm.

Dear Ms Kidd,

Karen mentioned you might be able to attend Anna’s funeral. If you can’t, I completely understand. If you could, I would be so grateful. 

Please just let him know we are pulling goiters out of people’s necks and correcting kids’ cleft lips and doing so many other beautiful things today for so many people. We are changing lives, and it is so rewarding.

But despite all that, my thoughts are completely absent from this place, and my heart is right there with him and Nicholas and Katie and Rachel and Kris. I keep welling up today as I think about him and the pain, and how badly I wish to be able to take his pain onto myself, if even just for a day. I love him so much and am committed to him and his children, as is my wife.

He is the most selfless friend, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he would do anything to help me, and it pains me I can’t reciprocate at this moment, but I will see him soon. Remind him to be in touch with me and tell me when he needs me. Today will be a horrible day, and closure is probably impossible, but I still pray today proves to be an emotionally healthy day for them. 

That’s probably a bit much to relay during a busy funeral, but even just a hug and a hi from me would be amazing. 

Again, if you can’t make it, I completely understand. 

Robert 

An afterthought: Throughout my life I’ve been fortunate to celebrate many wonderful birthdays.  I’ve been the recipient of incredibly touching gifts and heartfelt sentiments. 

The gift I received that day, however, was of a rarer kind. For me, that deeply personal experience shared with two strangers was a one-of-a-kind event. Its beauty remains unmatched, outshining any jewel or other material possession I might ever receive. And it’s a gift I’ll continue to treasure for the rest of my days.  

* Names changed.