Inside the box was an old handwritten letter from Eleanor. Richard explained that she had written it shortly before her death. In it, she encouraged him not to spend the rest of his life alone. She wanted him to find happiness again, even if that happiness came from loving someone new. Richard had carried the letter every Sunday for five years.
He told me that meeting my mother had changed his life, but he struggled with guilt whenever he imagined moving forward. Visiting Eleanor’s grave was his way of remembering their marriage while learning to embrace his future. I suddenly understood that his Sunday departures weren’t evidence of betrayal. They were part of a promise he had made to someone he deeply loved.
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