Hi, my name is Kimberly Jackson and this is the story of a wonderful old man named Henry Orbson. His story will melt your heart. It will make you believe in true love. And you will see how fragile love can be. It's how a gentle old man reflects on the love lost and the peace it brings him. I reside within two miles of a recreation ground named Oakrush Park. As the sun sets low on the horizon and darkness approaches, I like to run through this magnificent park with it's variety of maples, poplars, willows, oaks and elm trees reaching towards the sky, as if to grab the last touches of warmth before the cool night air filters in. A sweet aroma lingers from Daffodils, Roses, Liliacs, Tulips, Azaleas and Buttercups. The pleasant scents float gracefully in the cool early evening breeze and fill my nostrils as I inhale large breaths of air and continue on my journey. It's a ritual I have been doing since I lost my husband to cancer three years ago. It somewhat takes the loneliness away or at least makes it more bearable. The air is cool and crisp. Glow from the lampposts along the sidewalk shine with luminesce embers. Sometimes ominous shadows linger along the pathway as I run in solitude. Soon, my body informs me, it's time to rest. I make my way over to a bench near a splendid looking autumn blaze maple tree. As I sit down, I observe a thin, frail looking old man about in his mid to late 90's sitting on a bench across the path from where I am sitting. He is resting on a bench that time has weathered. A massive weeping willow tree reaches out it's branches encasing the old man in it's embrace. He looks lonely, but, yet somehow at peace. I have noticed this man sitting on the same bench, every evening, at the same time for months. He never seems to have anyone else share his bench. He sits alone with his feet flat on the ground, hands folded in his lap, looking toward the early evening sky. His facial expressions are neither happy nor sad. Thoughts come to mind of a famous artist named Claude Monet and how he could transpose this scene into a breathtaking painting. One evening out of curiosity and compassion I apprehensively approach the old man. I stand in the glimmering light of a lamppost looking directly into the old man's eyes forcing him to look at me. He slowly glares up at me but remains silient. After a brief hesitation, I slowly sit down and whisper softly, "Hi, my name is Kimberly, you can call me Kim". With tears in his eyes, he takes his feeble but eager, wrinkled but solft hand, and places it tenderly in mine as he replies in a voice that crackles as he speaks, "Hi Kimberly, it is nice to meet you. Thank you for sitting and talking with me. No one else notices I am here. Night after night I sit by myself and no one says hi. People walk by with their children, with their pets. They run, jog, and walk past me but they don't see me". He speaks slowly but with purpose. I sense an urgency in his voice. This kind gentleman is anxious for someone to listen to him. As the old man continues to talk, I acknowledge what appears to be sadness in his voice as I say, "I would love to sit and talk with you". "What is your name"? I inquire. He replies with caution in his voice, "Henry, Henry Orbson". Through our precious talks the next few evenings, I learn that Henry was a professor of English at a well known college and his wife Beverly taught Math and Home Economics at the local high school. They had been married for 72 years. Cancer ruled most of Beverly's life. She had tolerated the ends and outs of remission until finally the cancer took her life two years ago at the age of 92. Henry said she loved to stroll arm in arm in this particular park. They would cozy up on the same exact bench Henry now occupies every evening. Beverly loved listening to the wind whistle through the trees in the park. Henry said it brought peace to her. She said it was God speaking to her and only she understood what He was saying. And he said, the birds, oh the birds, how she adored them. Henry said she could name the bird by it's beautiful song before she even saw it. Their songs were like a sweet melodies in her heart. Henry continued to tell me the story of when he almost lost his beloved Beverly twice. He explained in great detail what happened the first time. Henry said, "We met when Beverly was 15 and I was 18. More than puppy love, we were 'in love'. One sunny afternoon we were strolling along a riverbank all fool hearted, young, and high spirited. We clasped our hands together and began spinning around and around in what Beverly called 'our love circle'. Consumed in our own little world, just her and I laughing and crying. When all of a sudden her hand slipped from my grip. It happened so fast I was startled. She tripped on a tree root and fell over the riverbank. I tried to catch her, but I coudn't". I could see he was getting agitated. His body began to tremble. His bony and withered hands began to quiver out of control. I gracefully cupped his hands in mine and held them tenderly to my chest as I thoughtfully said, "It's ok Henry. You don't have to say anymore". "Yes, I do". He sighed. "Yes, I do". He then pressed on, "I could hear her screams and cries. The river current had taken her down stream. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. Cautiously, I ran along the bank until I could see her. Then, I hurled my body over the embankment and into the cold, clear, deep waters of the river. She was pinned under a large half sunken log. Her head barely above water. Her cries ceased. Her body was listless. Slowly and carefully I succeeded in freeing her from the entanglement. Then, I quickly pulled her to a piece of soggy ground just out of reach of the water's edge. I didn't know what to do. Screaming and yelling her name, I began to shake her, but nothing happened. Lovingly, I caressed her as she lie spiritless across my legs. I prayed to God. I cursed at God. I pleaded with God. Please don't let her die. The thought of losing her was more than I could bare. It seemed like a lifetime but then I heard a faint mumbling cry. Beverly, with her beautiful blue eyes, looked up at me and whispered, "Henry". I squeezed her tightly, as I smothered her with kisses. I must have told her a hundred times that day how much I loved her". Henry finished his story and sat in silence for a long time. Tears drizzled down his cheeks. He didn't want to talk anymore. Acknowledging his stillness, I reached over and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and said, "It was real nice talking with you Henry. Thank you for sharing your memory of Beverly. She sounds like a beautiful sweet young girl. I will see you tomorrow night". He smiled. I walked away. It was six nights before Henry was ready to talk again about his beloved Beverly. That evening there was a light cool mist in the air, but that didn't stop him. I held his umbrella high above shielding us from the gentle sprays of fine rain. As I sit ready to listen, my eyes detect light rain drops dripping from the willow tree's branches. Weeping as if it could feel Henry's pain. He was ready to revisit his memory of what had happened the second time he came close to losing Beverly. Little by little he let his recollection of his past overtake him. Resting my hand on top of his as he stared into the mist, eyes glazzing over, he began his story. "Five years after the first incedent happened, I came close to losing her again. This time was real bad. It started out as a beautiful winter day in December high in the mountains of Maine. A major snow storm was forcast to arrive by late afternoon. We believed we could make it before the storm hit but we were wrong, so wrong. Driving my dad's 1949 Ford pickup on a winding road headed to a small cottatge owned by my grandfather for the weekend, it began to snow. It was snowing so hard we could not see. We came around a bend in the road and through the mesmerizing snow there stood a deer in the headlights. I swerved to miss it. The truck started to slide. I could feel the pickup slipping from under us. Beverly's screams echoed in my head as we proceeded to spin out of control. We flipped and then slammed into a large oak tree. I was pinned behind the steering wheel. Beverly had been thrown from the truck. It seemed like hours past before I finally freed myself. With a broken left arm and a gash above my right eye, I began looking for Beverly. Trudging through deep snow I desperately continued to call for her. Snow was falling fast, hard, and forceful. Blustery winds sliced right through me. The blowing snow was making it difficult to see and maneuver through the storm. Numerous times I stumbled and fell, but I had to carry on with my search for my love. Giving up hope was not an option. The need to find her engulfed me like a raging fire burning out of control. My throat became raw as I called frantically for her over and over. Eeriness was all around me. I felt like a lost child in a snow globe with no way out. Everywhere I looked was snow, just snow. I felt like I was running in circles. All of a sudden, I tripped over what I thought was a tree stump. Henry paused. He took in a deep breath and coughed. I looked at him in shock and responded, "Oh, my God, that was Beverly". Through his raspy voice I vaguely heard him indicate, "Yes, it was my love". He expelled a soft wimper before carrying on with what happened next. "I fell to the ground. Face burned as I brushed against the snow. Frantically, I felt around for what I tripped over. I gasped! It was Beverly. My God, she felt cold, so cold. She was frigid, not moving. I was not sure if she was breathing. I tried to keep her warm but I was so cold, I could not feel my own hands. I screamed at God, NO!, NO! DON'T TAKE HER FROM ME! YOU CAN'T HAVE HER! I NEED HER!! I dare not cry in fear of my tears freezing to icicles". "As quickly as the snow had started it ended. I believe to this day God was with us. When the snow had stopped, we were lying next to the road. I embraced Beverly tightly to keep us both warm as much as I possibly could. It was no longer quiet. Listening attentively I heard a car's engine roaring down the snow covered road. The car slowed as it came around the bend then stopped. It was my grandfather. He was on his way to the cabin to make sure we made it ok". He finishes his story, then sits quietly poised in the misty rain. As we both take in the peacefullness of the cool gentle drizzle, I continue to ponder over why Henry comes here every night; just to sit by himself; especially, when he has acknowledged that no one talks to him? As if reading my mind he looks at me in admiration and smiles. Then he gently speaks, but his voice is weak. "The reason I come here evey night is because, I am waiting for Beverly. She is coming to take me home with her. She made me promise to wait for her. I promised her I would be waiting no matter how long it takes. Beverly said she would be coming for me soon. This is where I will be waiting for her, "on our bench". It broke my heart to listen to him talk. And yet there was a part of me that understood Henrys' feelings. There was so much passion between Henry and Beverly that it could be heard in his breathy voice. I could see the teary sparkle in his eyes as he talked about seeing his beloved Beverly again. One cool evening while running through the park I stopped short of the bench where Henry should have been sitting with his feet flat on the ground, hands folded in his lap, glaring into the cool early evening sky. But he was not there. My heart began beating faster as I thought ,oh no, something has happened to Henry. I didn't know how to get a hold of him or even where he lived. I casually made my way to the bench. Slowly, I sat down and reached for an entity that was not there. A chill swept over me. I was shirvering. My body was trembling, but not because of the cool air. It was because of something else. Soft tears entered by eyes and welled up inside as I began to cry. I shed tears for reasons I couldn't undertand. I was thinking of Henry and how much he cherished Beverly. Listening to the stories Henry told me about Beverly, I felt like I knew her. In my mind they were created in spirit and soul to be together, to have each other, in this life, and the life beyond. All of a sudden a peace came over me. I gazed up into the early evening sky. As the sun was cresting the horizon I swore I saw faint images of two fuzzy white shadows dancing toward the falling sun. As light from a lamppost flickered, tears fell from my eyes as I thought of Henry and Beverly. Were they together now? Did Beverly come for her beloved Henry? Was the flickering light a sign from Henry and Beverly revealing to me they are once again in each other's warm and loving embrace? I will leave the answers for you to ponder on my dear readers. What does your faith tell you!!