At the terminal waiting for my train, I met a senior. He belonged to a time when life was simpler and people were congenial. His, was a fresh face, by that I mean, I have yet seen such sincerity in a countenance.
We spoke briefly, but our conversation was infused with lessons. We spoke of myths, history, and much more. He was gracious in speech and generous in wisdom. He was after all, a teacher, in retirement.
What struck me the most was his personal story. The anguish from his deep loss. To be left lonely after his wife’s passing. As the minutes passed, his train finally arrived. Before he bid adieu, he uttered his truth, “It is only a home with your wife in it”.
And so I watched a friend return to an address I do not know, leaving me with a thought, to ponder without stop; What makes a home?