I was on a business trip when Dad passed away, finally losing his battle with kidney disease.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already booked you a flight home,” my husband, Mark, told me over the phone. “I’ll be waiting at the airport to pick you up. I love you.”
I cried the entire flight. Dad had always been so strong—he was a soldier in World War II—and seeing him so weak had been painful. But not as painful as this.
Tears filled my eyes as I got off the plane. I could barely see. All I wanted was to be taken care of, to fall into Mark’s comforting arms. But I felt lost and alone in the throng of travelers.
I asked a guardsman for help. “I just lost my father,” I said between sniffles. “I’m supposed to meet my husband here, but I’m all turned around.”
“I’ll show you the way,” he said softly. He looped my arm through his and led me out of the crowd past the security gates. I spotted Mark right away.
“There he is!” The soldier escorted me over, and I wrapped my arms tight around Mark’s waist. When I looked over my shoulder the soldier was gone.
“What is it?” Mark asked.
“My escort, the soldier,” I said. “Where did he go?”
Mark looked at me strangely. “There was no soldier with you, Donna. You walked over to me alone.”
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