We have experienced true love if we have
taken away the feelings, taken away passion and taken away romance….
only to find that we still care!
When
we love, there's no such thing as loving a little, but loving all the
way. Love may not ask us to give up our life, but it will require lots
of sacrifices. Here's a wonderful love affair that has a happy ending
after 60 years.
As I walked home one freezing day, I
stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and
looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But
the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that
looked as if it had been in there for years.
The envelope was worn and the only thing
that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the
letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline--1924. The
letter had been written almost sixty years ago.
No
matter how long it takes, true love is always worth the wait.
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It was written in a beautiful feminine
handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the
left-hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the recipient,
whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him any
more because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would
always love him. It was signed, Hannah.
It was a beautiful letter, but there was
no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified.
Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing
for the address on the envelope.
The operator, after consulting with her
supervisor, said that she could call the phone number listed for that
address, explain my story and ask permission to give the phone number. I
waited a few minutes and I was connected to a woman on the other end of
the line. I asked her if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, "Oh! We
bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But
that was 30 years ago!"
"Would you know where that family could
be located now?" I asked.
"I remember that Hannah had to place her
mother in a nursing home some years ago," the woman said. "Maybe if you
get in touch with them they might be able to track down the daughter."
She gave me the name of the nursing home
and I called the number. They told me the old lady had passed away some
years ago but they did have a phone number for where they thought the
daughter might be living. I thanked them and phoned. The woman who
answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home.
This whole thing was stupid, I thought to
myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a
wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that was almost 60 years
old?
Nevertheless, I called the nursing home
in which Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who answered the
phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us. "
Even though it was already 10 p.m., I
asked if I could come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if
you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching
television."
I thanked him and drove over to the
nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We
went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the
nurse introduced me to Hannah.
She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer
with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the
wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder blue
envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and
said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with
Michael."
She looked away for a moment deep in
thought and then said Softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16
at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome.
He looked like Sean Connery, the actor."
"Yes," she continued. "Michael Goldstein
was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him
often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, "tell
him I still love him. You know," she said smiling as tears began to well
up in her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to
Michael..."
I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took
the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard
there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?"
I told him she had given me a lead. "At
least I have a last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I
spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet."
I had taken out the wallet, which was a
simple leather case. When the guard
saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. He's always losing that
wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times."
"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand
began to shake.
"He's one of the old timers on the 8th
floor. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it on
one of his walks." I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the
nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the
elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.
On the eighth floor, the floor nurse
said, "I think he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night.
He's a darling old man."
We went to the only room that had any
lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him
and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with
surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"
"This kind gentleman found a wallet and
we wondered if it could be yours?"
I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the
second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It
must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a
reward."
"No, thank you," I said. "But I have to
tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who
owned the wallet."
The smile on his face suddenly
disappeared. "You read that letter?"
"Not only did I read it, I think I know
where Hannah is."
He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know
where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please,
please tell me," he begged.
"She's fine...just as pretty as when you
knew her." I said softly.
Time
passes. Memories fade. Feelings change. People leave. But hearts never
forget. |
The old man smiled with anticipation and
asked, "Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow." He
grabbed my hand and said, "You know something, mister, I was so in love
with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I
never married. I guess I've always loved her."
"Mr. Goldstein," I said, "Come with me."
We took the elevator down to the third
floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little
night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone
watching the television. The nurse walked over to her.
"Hannah," she said softly, pointing to
Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know this man?"
She adjusted her glasses, looked for a
moment, but didn't say a word.
Michael said softly, almost in a whisper,
"Hannah, it's Michael. Do you remember me?"
She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it!
Michael! It's you! My Michael!"
He walked slowly towards her and they
embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces.
"See," I said. "See how the Good Lord
works! If it's meant to be, it will be."
About three weeks later I got a call at
my office from the nursing home. "Can you break away on Sunday to attend
a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!"
It was a beautiful wedding with all the
people at the nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah
wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue
suit and stood tall.
They made me their best man. The hospital
gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old
bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see
this couple.
A perfect ending for a love affair that
had lasted nearly 60 years.
By Tim Pedrosa
No
one falls in love by choice, only by chance. No one stays in love by
chance, only with work. No one falls out of love by chance only by
choice!
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