“I’m so grateful to Christ Jesus for making me adequate to do this work. He went out on a limb, you know, in trusting me with this ministry. The only credentials I brought to it were invective and witch hunts and arrogance. But I was treated mercifully because I didn’t know what I was doing—didn’t know Who I was doing it against! Grace mixed with faith and love poured over me and into me. And all because of Jesus.”  1 Timothy 1:12-14 MSG

My younger granddaughter is my mini-me. Creative, funny, and incredibly intuitive, she just seems to “get me”. And she knows when to contact me and say just the right thing. Monday was Mr. Virgo’s birthday, and while the day itself did not carry the painful weight it has in the past, I still could not ignore the feelings in my heart as I remembered such a wonderful man and the passage of time without him. Then, last night… “Little” contacted me via text. 

“What was Papa’s last name?” she asked.

“McKinney, sweetheart. Same as mine.”

“He was a ghost on a video.”

“What? What video???”

“A video I saw last week. I just remembered to tell you. A medium was talking and a man with Papa’s name spoke out and said he was there. He said he died of a heart attack. He said the woman reminded him of his wife because she was creative and funny. I know it was him and I just wanted to tell you…he’s not really gone.”

Wow. 

She was only five when her Papa died. Yet she was the one who gave me the most comfort. She held my heart in a special way that only she and I could understand. She kept a sacred space between us where her Papa and my Mr. Virgo could live forever and never be forgotten. She is so special. She had no way of remembering that Monday had been his birthday. Yet, she knew to reach out.

Thinking back over the years since he died, I remember how hard it was to miss his physical presence. I missed his hugs the very most. The way he would fold me into his chest, the top of my head tucked just under his chin. The smell of leather and tobacco and wood coming from his sweater. The sudden absence of that left a gaping hole in my life. I have always been a hugger. One of the reasons my second marriage fell apart was because Hubby #2 wasn’t. He hadn’t been raised that way. But Mr. Virgo gave me all the hugs I wanted.

I went on the search for physical contact after Mr. Virgo died. I tried dating a couple of guys and that was a catastrophe. Way too soon, way wrong people. I got hugs at church. I cruised the downtown shops and the mall in my little town looking for people I knew who would hold me for that extra long hug that makes casual acquaintances uncomfortable. I have a brother/friend who was wonderful…if I texted him at 3:00am, he would answer right away with “Where are you?” “In the camper,” I replied. “Be right there.” He would saunter over from his house a few blocks away, climb in the camper with me, and we would snuggle up in the corner under a blanket and I would show him pictures on my iPad while he wrapped his arms around me tight. No expectations. Nothing sexual. Just unconditional brotherly love and compassion. I will never forget his kindness. I got a prescription from my doctor for weekly massages to keep myself anchored. I visited my children and my brother as often as I could. I traveled and stayed with gentle friends who held my heart. And, eventually, I could stand up on my own again. I didn’t NEED quite so much. I didn’t ACHE quite so hard.

I was at a place of acceptance when I came back to West Virginia to live on the farm two years ago. I was at peace with my life and felt more centered than I probably ever had. That’s not to say I didn’t want someone in my life…I did. I’m a people person and I do better with a tribe. But I was getting ok with not having someone around all the time. Then…along came Mr. FixIt. And let me tell you…he is a hugger extraordinaire. When we first started dating, we would just sit and hug each other for hours. We’d talk and tell stories and just BE together. One day, he whispered…”This is medicine for the soul.” He was right, it was. It still is.

I know I’m blessed. I know what a gift this is. Late life love is precious. I just read a tweet from the author, Anne Lamott. She was watching the US Open with her love a couple of days ago when he said, “Can I ask you a question?” “Oh, sure,” she said, thinking it was something about the carport they were building. “Will you marry me?” She’s 64. He’s 63. “God is SUCH a show-off!” she said. I know not everyone wants another love after loss. I know some want it and it doesn’t come. I struggle sometimes sharing my joy while balancing sensitivity for others’ pain. My point is to always strive for hope. Always search for joy. No matter what that looks like for you…alone, together, screaming from the mountain tops, or cloistered in the stacks of a really great library. Whatever your bliss…my wish for you is that you find it. In spades! ❤️