I walked up and down the aisles of the bicycle shop, fighting back tears. Michael is supposed to be here with me, I thought.
Two months before, my husband, Michael, died in a car accident. I tried desperately to keep a brave face for our two young boys but his death left a gaping hole in our hearts. Especially today. Michael had promised to buy our youngest a new bicycle for his eighth birthday. Now, here I was, doing it alone.
It was just another reminder of all the other things I’d experience by myself now. Birthdays, holidays, even our 18th wedding anniversary, just three weeks away. How would I get through that day without Michael?
Suddenly, a cherry-red bike caught my eye. It was perfect for my son. On my way to the register I spied another red bike—an adult one. My bicycle was unreliable for keeping up with two active boys, so I treated myself.
“Don’t forget to buy chains and locks,” the salesman said.The bicycle I’d picked for my son came with a matching set, but I looked all around the store and couldn’t find a set for mine. Lord, Michael was so good at this stuff. Help me, I prayed.
Just then, on the bottom shelf, I spied a red padlock and chain. A perfect match.
The day of our wedding anniversary I’d never felt more alone. I could’ve stayed in bed all day. But Michael wouldn’t have wanted that. “Kids, let’s go for a bike ride!” I grabbed our three bicycles from the garage, along with my lock and a pen to jot down the combination: 38, 18, 38.
Those numbers! I’d never need to write them down. Michael and I would’ve both been 38 years old on our 18th anniversary. A reminder I wasn’t so alone after all.
