This mysterious old lady was married once for what would have been a lifetime for most of us. Her husband died years ago, but not before he made the last payment on the home you rummaged through on Saturday.

Children? They had seven kids and raised them on hand-me-downs and fresh garden vegetables. Two died at an early age, one in a car accident when he was just a teen. The others went on to college and scattered across the US in search of big dollars, big homes, and little respect for who gave them life and everything they had today.

She had very few friends to visit her. The ones still around were tucked away in nursing homes she couldn’t get to visit. I am guilty, too. I wouldn’t have met her either, except one day while driving past her house I blew a tire and pulled by the side of the road. While I was struggling with the spare, she came out and offered me a glass of homemade iced tea. I sat on her steps as she rocked in that chair and told me a lifetime of stories. She talked so long she apologised, for she rarely got visitors. I assured her that she need not apologise at all. I was the one who was sorry that I had never stopped by sooner.

“You are an angel,” I told her. In her sweet, gentle voice, she said, “We are each other’s angels. We meet when it is time.” She died the other day, and I sat on her front porch and watched her life fall apart. The neighbours got some real bargains that day. But I found a treasure. — Beliefnet.com (Concluded)