Valentine’s Day always made me pine for my husband, Jim, more than usual, and that was a lot. I know he’s waiting for me in heaven, Lord, I thought, looking up at the sky. And I’ll get to see him again.
I tried to hold tight to that thought, but sometimes I wished I had a tangible reminder.
My son walked in and surprised me with a Valentine’s Day gift—a dozen red, heart-shaped balloons. I stuttered a thank-you.
“They’re not from me, Mom,” he said. “I was sitting in the front yard when I saw them floating way up high. They were several blocks away, but I had the strangest feeling they were coming to our house.”
“And they did?” I asked.
“They floated low enough to the ground that I could reach up and grab them. But they’re not for me. I just know they’re meant for you.”
A tangible reminder blown right down from heaven to my front door. Jim would always be my valentine.
