Lonely Loneliness

Delayed Delivery, OT, Touching

Question:

Hey Jackie…you must get chicken soup for the soul delivered to your in-box every day like I do.  I almost copied this one for ASAP too! Great minds think alike.  Hope you are doing well. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text –                 Delayed Delivery       Stella had been prepared for her husband’s death.  Since the  doctor’s pronouncement of terminal cancer, they had both faced  the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time  together.  Dave’s financial affairs had always been in order.  There were no new burdens in her widowed state.  It was just the  awful aloneness…the lack of purpose to her days.       They had been a childless couple by choice.  Their lives had  been so full and rich.  They had been content with busy careers  and with each other.  They had many friends.  Had.  That was the  operative word these days.  It was bad enough losing the one  person you loved with all your heart.     But over the past few  years, she and Dave repeatedly coped with the deaths of their  friends and relations.  They were all of an age – an age when  human bodies began giving up.     Dying.  Face it – they were old!       And now, approaching the first Christmas without Dave,  Stella was all too aware she was on her own.       With shaky fingers, she lowered the volume of her radio so  that the Christmas music faded to a muted background.     To her  surprise, she saw that the mail had arrived.  With the inevitable  wince of pain from her arthritis, she bent to retrieve the white  envelopes from the floor.  She opened them while sitting on the  piano bench.  They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes  smiled at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and at the  loving messages inside.  She arranged them among the others on  the piano top.  In her entire house, they were the only seasonal  decoration.  The holiday was less than a week away, but she just  did not have the heart to put up a silly tree, or even set up the  stable that Dave had built with his own hands.       Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of it all, Stella buried  her face in her hands and let the tears come.     How would she  possibly get through Christmas and the winter beyond it!       The ring of the doorbell was so unexpected that Stella had  to stifle a small scream of surprise.     Now who could possibly be  calling on her?  She opened the wooden door and stared through  the window of the storm door with consternation.  On her front  porch stood a strange young man, whose head was barely visible  above the large carton in his arms.  She peered beyond him to the  driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give a  clue as to his identity.  Summoning courage, the elderly lady  opened the door slightly, and he stepped sideways to speak into  the space.       "Mrs. Thornhope?"       She nodded.  He continued, "I have a package for you."       Curiosity drove caution from her mind.  She pushed the door  open, and he entered.     Smiling, he placed his burden carefully on  the floor and stood to retrieve an envelope that protruded from  his pocket.  As he handed it to her, a sound came from the box.  Stella jumped.  The man laughed in apology and bent to straighten  up the cardboard flaps, holding them open in an invitation for  her to peek inside.       It was a dog!  To be more exact, a golden Labrador retriever  puppy.  As the young gentleman lifted its squirming body up into  his arms, he explained, "This is for you, ma’am.""  The young pup  wiggled in happiness at being released from captivity and thrust  ecstatic, wet kisses in the direction of the young man’s face.  "We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve," he continued  with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the  wet little tongue, "but the staff at the kennels start their  holidays tomorrow.  Hope you don’t mind an early present."       Shock had stolen Stella’s ability to think clearly.  Unable  to form coherent sentences, she stammered, "But…I don’t…I  mean…who…?"       The young fellow set the animal down on the doormat between  them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was  still holding.       "There’s a letter in there that explains everything, pretty  much.     The dog was bought while his mother was still pregnant.  It was meant to be a Christmas gift."       The stranger turned to go.  Desperation forced the words  from her lips.  "But who…who bought it?"       Pausing in the open doorway, he replied, "Your husband,  ma’am."  And then he was gone.       It was all in the letter.  Forgetting the puppy entirely at  the sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella walked like a  sleepwalker to her chair by the window.  She forced her tear-  filled eyes to read her husband’s words.  He had written the  letter three weeks before his death and had left it with the  kennel owners, to be delivered along with the puppy as his last  Christmas gift to her.  It was full of love and encouragement and  admonishments to be strong.  He vowed that he was waiting for the  day when she would join him.  And he had sent her this young  animal to keep her company until then.       Remembering the little creature for the first time, she was  surprised to find him quietly looking up at her, his small  panting mouth resembling a comic smile.  Stella put the pages  aside and reached for the bundle of golden fur.  She thought that  he would be heavier, but he was only the size and weight of a  sofa pillow.  And so soft and warm.  She cradled him in her arms  and he licked her jawbone, then cuddled into the hollow of her  neck.     The tears began anew at this exchange of affection and the  dog endured her crying without moving.       Finally, Stella lowered him to her lap, where she regarded  him solemnly.     She wiped vaguely at her wet cheeks, then somehow  mustered a smile.       "Well, little guy, I guess it’s you and me."  His pink  tongue panted in agreement.  Stella’s smile strengthened, and her  gaze shifted sideways to the window.  Dusk had fallen.  Through  fluffy flakes that were not drifting down, she saw the cheery  Christmas lights edging the roof lines of her neighbors’ homes.  The strains of "Joy to the World" floated in from the kitchen.       Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace and  benediction wash over her.  It was like being enfolded in a  loving embrace.  Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy  and wonder, not grief or loneliness.  She need never feel alone  again.       Returning her attention to the dog, she spoke to him.  "You  know, fella, I have a box in the basement that I think you’d  like.     There’s a tree in it and some decorations and lights that  will impress you like crazy!  And I think I can find that old  stable down there, too.  What d’ya say we go hunt it up?"       The puppy barked happily in agreement, as if he understood  every word.  Stella got up, placed the puppy on the floor and  together they went down to the basement, reading to make a  Christmas together.                  By Cathy Miller  Reprinted by permission of Cathy Miller, (c) 1997 from Chicken  Soup for the Pet Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor  Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M., and Carol Kline.

– Jeannie "On the other hand….you have different fingers."

Response:

Hey Jackie…you must get chicken soup for the soul delivered to your in-box every day like I do.  I almost copied this one for ASAP too! Great minds think alike.  Hope you are doing well.

Hi Jeannie, I do get Chicken soup delivered in e-mail everyday and I love it. All of them are really good, but there are some that are extra touching and today`s was one of them. It brought tears to my eyes. I am doing well, thanks for asking ) Jackie

Response:

Thanks Jackie that was a lovely story… Love Jeanette

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text –        Delayed Delivery       Stella had been prepared for her husband’s death.  Since the  doctor’s pronouncement of terminal cancer, they had both faced  the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time  together.  Dave’s financial affairs had always been in order.  There were no new burdens in her widowed state.  It was just the  awful aloneness…the lack of purpose to her days.       They had been a childless couple by choice.  Their lives had  been so full and rich.  They had been content with busy careers  and with each other.  They had many friends.  Had.  That was the  operative word these days.  It was bad enough losing the one  person you loved with all your heart. But over the past few  years, she and Dave repeatedly coped with the deaths of their  friends and relations.  They were all of an age – an age when  human bodies began giving up. Dying. Face it – they were old!       And now, approaching the first Christmas without Dave,  Stella was all too aware she was on her own.       With shaky fingers, she lowered the volume of her radio so  that the Christmas music faded to a muted background. To her  surprise, she saw that the mail had arrived.  With the inevitable  wince of pain from her arthritis, she bent to retrieve the white  envelopes from the floor.  She opened them while sitting on the  piano bench.  They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes  smiled at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and at the  loving messages inside.  She arranged them among the others on  the piano top.  In her entire house, they were the only seasonal  decoration.  The holiday was less than a week away, but she just  did not have the heart to put up a silly tree, or even set up the  stable that Dave had built with his own hands.       Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of it all, Stella buried  her face in her hands and let the tears come. How would she  possibly get through Christmas and the winter beyond it!       The ring of the doorbell was so unexpected that Stella had  to stifle a small scream of surprise. Now who could possibly be  calling on her?  She opened the wooden door and stared through  the window of the storm door with consternation.  On her front  porch stood a strange young man, whose head was barely visible  above the large carton in his arms.  She peered beyond him to the  driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give a  clue as to his identity.  Summoning courage, the elderly lady  opened the door slightly, and he stepped sideways to speak into  the space.       "Mrs. Thornhope?"       She nodded.  He continued, "I have a package for you."       Curiosity drove caution from her mind.  She pushed the door  open, and he entered. Smiling, he placed his burden carefully on  the floor and stood to retrieve an envelope that protruded from  his pocket.  As he handed it to her, a sound came from the box.  Stella jumped.  The man laughed in apology and bent to straighten  up the cardboard flaps, holding them open in an invitation for  her to peek inside.       It was a dog!  To be more exact, a golden Labrador retriever  puppy.  As the young gentleman lifted its squirming body up into  his arms, he explained, "This is for you, ma’am.""  The young pup  wiggled in happiness at being released from captivity and thrust  ecstatic, wet kisses in the direction of the young man’s face.  "We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve," he continued  with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the  wet little tongue, "but the staff at the kennels start their  holidays tomorrow.  Hope you don’t mind an early present."       Shock had stolen Stella’s ability to think clearly.  Unable  to form coherent sentences, she stammered, "But…I don’t…I  mean…who…?"       The young fellow set the animal down on the doormat between  them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was  still holding.       "There’s a letter in there that explains everything, pretty  much. The dog was bought while his mother was still pregnant.  It was meant to be a Christmas gift."       The stranger turned to go.  Desperation forced the words  from her lips.  "But who…who bought it?"       Pausing in the open doorway, he replied, "Your husband,  ma’am."  And then he was gone.       It was all in the letter.  Forgetting the puppy entirely at  the sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella walked like a  sleepwalker to her chair by the window.  She forced her tear-  filled eyes to read her husband’s words.  He had written the  letter three weeks before his death and had left it with the  kennel owners, to be delivered along with the puppy as his last  Christmas gift to her.  It was full of love and encouragement and  admonishments to be strong.  He vowed that he was waiting for the  day when she would join him.  And he had sent her this young  animal to keep her company until then.       Remembering the little creature for the first time, she was  surprised to find him quietly looking up at her, his small  panting mouth resembling a comic smile.  Stella put the pages  aside and reached for the bundle of golden fur.  She thought that  he would be heavier, but he was only the size and weight of a  sofa pillow.  And so soft and warm.  She cradled him in her arms  and he licked her jawbone, then cuddled into the hollow of her  neck. The tears began anew at this exchange of affection and the  dog endured her crying without moving.       Finally, Stella lowered him to her lap, where she regarded  him solemnly. She wiped vaguely at her wet cheeks, then somehow  mustered a smile.       "Well, little guy, I guess it’s you and me."  His pink  tongue panted in agreement.  Stella’s smile strengthened, and her  gaze shifted sideways to the window.  Dusk had fallen.  Through  fluffy flakes that were not drifting down, she saw the cheery  Christmas lights edging the roof lines of her neighbors’ homes.  The strains of "Joy to the World" floated in from the kitchen.       Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace and  benediction wash over her.  It was like being enfolded in a  loving embrace.  Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy  and wonder, not grief or loneliness.  She need never feel alone  again.       Returning her attention to the dog, she spoke to him.  "You  know, fella, I have a box in the basement that I think you’d  like. There’s a tree in it and some decorations and lights that  will impress you like crazy!  And I think I can find that old  stable down there, too.  What d’ya say we go hunt it up?"       The puppy barked happily in agreement, as if he understood  every word.  Stella got up, placed the puppy on the floor and  together they went down to the basement, reading to make a  Christmas together.       By Cathy Miller  Reprinted by permission of Cathy Miller, (c) 1997 from Chicken  Soup for the Pet Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor  Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M., and Carol Kline.

Response:

This certainly proves that we should never give up on life! Thanks for sharing! Liz – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text –                 Delayed Delivery       Stella had been prepared for her husband’s death.  Since the  doctor’s pronouncement of terminal cancer, they had both faced  the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time  together.  Dave’s financial affairs had always been in order.      There were no new burdens in her widowed state.  It was just the  awful aloneness…the lack of purpose to her days.       They had been a childless couple by choice.  Their lives had  been so full and rich.  They had been content with busy careers  and with each other.  They had many friends.  Had.  That was the  operative word these days.  It was bad enough losing the one  person you loved with all your heart.     But over the past few  years, she and Dave repeatedly coped with the deaths of their  friends and relations.  They were all of an age – an age when  human bodies began giving up.     Dying.  Face it – they were old!       And now, approaching the first Christmas without Dave,  Stella was all too aware she was on her own.       With shaky fingers, she lowered the volume of her radio so  that the Christmas music faded to a muted background.     To her  surprise, she saw that the mail had arrived.  With the inevitable  wince of pain from her arthritis, she bent to retrieve the white  envelopes from the floor.  She opened them while sitting on the  piano bench.  They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes  smiled at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and at the  loving messages inside.  She arranged them among the others on  the piano top.  In her entire house, they were the only seasonal  decoration.  The holiday was less than a week away, but she just  did not have the heart to put up a silly tree, or even set up the  stable that Dave had built with his own hands.       Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of it all, Stella buried  her face in her hands and let the tears come.     How would she  possibly get through Christmas and the winter beyond it!       The ring of the doorbell was so unexpected that Stella had  to stifle a small scream of surprise.     Now who could possibly be  calling on her?  She opened the wooden door and stared through  the window of the storm door with consternation.  On her front  porch stood a strange young man, whose head was barely visible  above the large carton in his arms.  She peered beyond him to the  driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give a  clue as to his identity.  Summoning courage, the elderly lady  opened the door slightly, and he stepped sideways to speak into  the space.       "Mrs. Thornhope?"       She nodded.  He continued, "I have a package for you."       Curiosity drove caution from her mind.  She pushed the door  open, and he entered.     Smiling, he placed his burden carefully on  the floor and stood to retrieve an envelope that protruded from  his pocket.  As he handed it to her, a sound came from the box.    Stella jumped.  The man laughed in apology and bent to straighten  up the cardboard flaps, holding them open in an invitation for  her to peek inside.       It was a dog!  To be more exact, a golden Labrador retriever  puppy.  As the young gentleman lifted its squirming body up into  his arms, he explained, "This is for you, ma’am.""  The young pup  wiggled in happiness at being released from captivity and thrust  ecstatic, wet kisses in the direction of the young man’s face.    "We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve," he continued  with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the  wet little tongue, "but the staff at the kennels start their  holidays tomorrow.  Hope you don’t mind an early present."       Shock had stolen Stella’s ability to think clearly.  Unable  to form coherent sentences, she stammered, "But…I don’t…I  mean…who…?"       The young fellow set the animal down on the doormat between  them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was  still holding.       "There’s a letter in there that explains everything, pretty  much.     The dog was bought while his mother was still pregnant.    It was meant to be a Christmas gift."       The stranger turned to go.  Desperation forced the words  from her lips.  "But who…who bought it?"       Pausing in the open doorway, he replied, "Your husband,  ma’am."  And then he was gone.       It was all in the letter.  Forgetting the puppy entirely at  the sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella walked like a  sleepwalker to her chair by the window.  She forced her tear-  filled eyes to read her husband’s words.  He had written the  letter three weeks before his death and had left it with the  kennel owners, to be delivered along with the puppy as his last  Christmas gift to her.  It was full of love and encouragement and  admonishments to be strong.  He vowed that he was waiting for the  day when she would join him.  And he had sent her this young  animal to keep her company until then.       Remembering the little creature for the first time, she was  surprised to find him quietly looking up at her, his small  panting mouth resembling a comic smile.  Stella put the pages  aside and reached for the bundle of golden fur.  She thought that  he would be heavier, but he was only the size and weight of a  sofa pillow.  And so soft and warm.  She cradled him in her arms  and he licked her jawbone, then cuddled into the hollow of her  neck.     The tears began anew at this exchange of affection and the  dog endured her crying without moving.       Finally, Stella lowered him to her lap, where she regarded  him solemnly.     She wiped vaguely at her wet cheeks, then somehow  mustered a smile.       "Well, little guy, I guess it’s you and me."  His pink  tongue panted in agreement.  Stella’s smile strengthened, and her  gaze shifted sideways to the window.  Dusk had fallen.  Through  fluffy flakes that were not drifting down, she saw the cheery  Christmas lights edging the roof lines of her neighbors’ homes.    The strains of "Joy to the World" floated in from the kitchen.       Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace and  benediction wash over her.  It was like being enfolded in a  loving embrace.  Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy  and wonder, not grief or loneliness.  She need never feel alone  again.       Returning her attention to the dog, she spoke to him.  "You  know, fella, I have a box in the basement that I think you’d  like.     There’s a tree in it and some decorations and lights that  will impress you like crazy!  And I think I can find that old  stable down there, too.  What d’ya say we go hunt it up?"       The puppy barked happily in agreement, as if he understood  every word.  Stella got up, placed the puppy on the floor and  together they went down to the basement, reading to make a  Christmas together.                  By Cathy Miller  Reprinted by permission of Cathy Miller, (c) 1997 from Chicken  Soup for the Pet Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor  Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M., and Carol Kline.

– Snowmen are blessings that fall from heaven unassembled…..

Response:

I have this book.  All of the stories are great.  Pets rule! Scott – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text –                 Delayed Delivery       Stella had been prepared for her husband’s death.  Since the  doctor’s pronouncement of terminal cancer, they had both faced  the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time  together.  Dave’s financial affairs had always been in order.  There were no new burdens in her widowed state.  It was just the  awful aloneness…the lack of purpose to her days.       They had been a childless couple by choice.  Their lives had  been so full and rich.  They had been content with busy careers  and with each other.  They had many friends.  Had.  That was the  operative word these days.  It was bad enough losing the one  person you loved with all your heart.     But over the past few  years, she and Dave repeatedly coped with the deaths of their  friends and relations.  They were all of an age – an age when  human bodies began giving up.     Dying.  Face it – they were old!       And now, approaching the first Christmas without Dave,  Stella was all too aware she was on her own.       With shaky fingers, she lowered the volume of her radio so  that the Christmas music faded to a muted background.     To her  surprise, she saw that the mail had arrived.  With the inevitable  wince of pain from her arthritis, she bent to retrieve the white  envelopes from the floor.  She opened them while sitting on the  piano bench.  They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes  smiled at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and at the  loving messages inside.  She arranged them among the others on  the piano top.  In her entire house, they were the only seasonal  decoration.  The holiday was less than a week away, but she just  did not have the heart to put up a silly tree, or even set up the  stable that Dave had built with his own hands.       Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of it all, Stella buried  her face in her hands and let the tears come.     How would she  possibly get through Christmas and the winter beyond it!       The ring of the doorbell was so unexpected that Stella had  to stifle a small scream of surprise.     Now who could possibly be  calling on her?  She opened the wooden door and stared through  the window of the storm door with consternation.  On her front  porch stood a strange young man, whose head was barely visible  above the large carton in his arms.  She peered beyond him to the  driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give a  clue as to his identity.  Summoning courage, the elderly lady  opened the door slightly, and he stepped sideways to speak into  the space.       "Mrs. Thornhope?"       She nodded.  He continued, "I have a package for you."       Curiosity drove caution from her mind.  She pushed the door  open, and he entered.     Smiling, he placed his burden carefully on  the floor and stood to retrieve an envelope that protruded from  his pocket.  As he handed it to her, a sound came from the box.  Stella jumped.  The man laughed in apology and bent to straighten  up the cardboard flaps, holding them open in an invitation for  her to peek inside.       It was a dog!  To be more exact, a golden Labrador retriever  puppy.  As the young gentleman lifted its squirming body up into  his arms, he explained, "This is for you, ma’am.""  The young pup  wiggled in happiness at being released from captivity and thrust  ecstatic, wet kisses in the direction of the young man’s face.  "We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve," he continued  with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the  wet little tongue, "but the staff at the kennels start their  holidays tomorrow.  Hope you don’t mind an early present."       Shock had stolen Stella’s ability to think clearly.  Unable  to form coherent sentences, she stammered, "But…I don’t…I  mean…who…?"       The young fellow set the animal down on the doormat between  them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was  still holding.       "There’s a letter in there that explains everything, pretty  much.     The dog was bought while his mother was still pregnant.  It was meant to be a Christmas gift."       The stranger turned to go.  Desperation forced the words  from her lips.  "But who…who bought it?"       Pausing in the open doorway, he replied, "Your husband,  ma’am."  And then he was gone.       It was all in the letter.  Forgetting the puppy entirely at  the sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella walked like a  sleepwalker to her chair by the window.  She forced her tear-  filled eyes to read her husband’s words.  He had written the  letter three weeks before his death and had left it with the  kennel owners, to be delivered along with the puppy as his last  Christmas gift to her.  It was full of love and encouragement and  admonishments to be strong.  He vowed that he was waiting for the  day when she would join him.  And he had sent her this young  animal to keep her company until then.       Remembering the little creature for the first time, she was  surprised to find him quietly looking up at her, his small  panting mouth resembling a comic smile.  Stella put the pages  aside and reached for the bundle of golden fur.  She thought that  he would be heavier, but he was only the size and weight of a  sofa pillow.  And so soft and warm.  She cradled him in her arms  and he licked her jawbone, then cuddled into the hollow of her  neck.     The tears began anew at this exchange of affection and the  dog endured her crying without moving.       Finally, Stella lowered him to her lap, where she regarded  him solemnly.     She wiped vaguely at her wet cheeks, then somehow  mustered a smile.       "Well, little guy, I guess it’s you and me."  His pink  tongue panted in agreement.  Stella’s smile strengthened, and her  gaze shifted sideways to the window.  Dusk had fallen.  Through  fluffy flakes that were not drifting down, she saw the cheery  Christmas lights edging the roof lines of her neighbors’ homes.  The strains of "Joy to the World" floated in from the kitchen.       Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace and  benediction wash over her.  It was like being enfolded in a  loving embrace.  Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy  and wonder, not grief or loneliness.  She need never feel alone  again.       Returning her attention to the dog, she spoke to him.  "You  know, fella, I have a box in the basement that I think you’d  like.     There’s a tree in it and some decorations and lights that  will impress you like crazy!  And I think I can find that old  stable down there, too.  What d’ya say we go hunt it up?"       The puppy barked happily in agreement, as if he understood  every word.  Stella got up, placed the puppy on the floor and  together they went down to the basement, reading to make a  Christmas together.                  By Cathy Miller  Reprinted by permission of Cathy Miller, (c) 1997 from Chicken  Soup for the Pet Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor  Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M., and Carol Kline.

– The only difference between myself and a madman is that I AM NOT MAD! -Salvador Dali

Response:

                     Delayed Delivery       Stella had been prepared for her husband’s death.  Since the  doctor’s pronouncement of terminal cancer, they had both faced  the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time  together.  Dave’s financial affairs had always been in order.    There were no new burdens in her widowed state.  It was just the  awful aloneness…the lack of purpose to her days.       They had been a childless couple by choice.  Their lives had  been so full and rich.  They had been content with busy careers  and with each other.  They had many friends.  Had.  That was the  operative word these days.  It was bad enough losing the one  person you loved with all your heart.  But over the past few  years, she and Dave repeatedly coped with the deaths of their  friends and relations.  They were all of an age – an age when  human bodies began giving up.  Dying.  Face it – they were old!       And now, approaching the first Christmas without Dave,  Stella was all too aware she was on her own.       With shaky fingers, she lowered the volume of her radio so  that the Christmas music faded to a muted background.  To her  surprise, she saw that the mail had arrived.  With the inevitable  wince of pain from her arthritis, she bent to retrieve the white  envelopes from the floor.  She opened them while sitting on the  piano bench.  They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes  smiled at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and at the  loving messages inside.  She arranged them among the others on  the piano top.  In her entire house, they were the only seasonal  decoration.  The holiday was less than a week away, but she just  did not have the heart to put up a silly tree, or even set up the  stable that Dave had built with his own hands.       Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of it all, Stella buried  her face in her hands and let the tears come.  How would she  possibly get through Christmas and the winter beyond it!       The ring of the doorbell was so unexpected that Stella had  to stifle a small scream of surprise.  Now who could possibly be  calling on her?  She opened the wooden door and stared through  the window of the storm door with consternation.  On her front  porch stood a strange young man, whose head was barely visible  above the large carton in his arms.  She peered beyond him to the  driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give a  clue as to his identity.  Summoning courage, the elderly lady  opened the door slightly, and he stepped sideways to speak into  the space.       "Mrs. Thornhope?"       She nodded.  He continued, "I have a package for you."       Curiosity drove caution from her mind.  She pushed the door  open, and he entered.  Smiling, he placed his burden carefully on  the floor and stood to retrieve an envelope that protruded from  his pocket.  As he handed it to her, a sound came from the box.    Stella jumped.  The man laughed in apology and bent to straighten  up the cardboard flaps, holding them open in an invitation for  her to peek inside.       It was a dog!  To be more exact, a golden Labrador retriever  puppy.  As the young gentleman lifted its squirming body up into  his arms, he explained, "This is for you, ma’am.""  The young pup  wiggled in happiness at being released from captivity and thrust  ecstatic, wet kisses in the direction of the young man’s face.    "We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve," he continued  with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the  wet little tongue, "but the staff at the kennels start their  holidays tomorrow.  Hope you don’t mind an early present."       Shock had stolen Stella’s ability to think clearly.  Unable  to form coherent sentences, she stammered, "But…I don’t…I  mean…who…?"       The young fellow set the animal down on the doormat between  them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was  still holding.       "There’s a letter in there that explains everything, pretty  much.  The dog was bought while his mother was still pregnant.    It was meant to be a Christmas gift."       The stranger turned to go.  Desperation forced the words  from her lips.  "But who…who bought it?"       Pausing in the open doorway, he replied, "Your husband,  ma’am."  And then he was gone.       It was all in the letter.  Forgetting the puppy entirely at  the sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella walked like a  sleepwalker to her chair by the window.  She forced her tear-  filled eyes to read her husband’s words.  He had written the  letter three weeks before his death and had left it with the  kennel owners, to be delivered along with the puppy as his last  Christmas gift to her.  It was full of love and encouragement and  admonishments to be strong.  He vowed that he was waiting for the  day when she would join him.  And he had sent her this young  animal to keep her company until then.       Remembering the little creature for the first time, she was  surprised to find him quietly looking up at her, his small  panting mouth resembling a comic smile.  Stella put the pages  aside and reached for the bundle of golden fur.  She thought that  he would be heavier, but he was only the size and weight of a  sofa pillow.  And so soft and warm.  She cradled him in her arms  and he licked her jawbone, then cuddled into the hollow of her  neck.  The tears began anew at this exchange of affection and the  dog endured her crying without moving.       Finally, Stella lowered him to her lap, where she regarded  him solemnly.  She wiped vaguely at her wet cheeks, then somehow  mustered a smile.       "Well, little guy, I guess it’s you and me."  His pink  tongue panted in agreement.  Stella’s smile strengthened, and her  gaze shifted sideways to the window.  Dusk had fallen.  Through  fluffy flakes that were not drifting down, she saw the cheery  Christmas lights edging the roof lines of her neighbors’ homes.    The strains of "Joy to the World" floated in from the kitchen.       Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace and  benediction wash over her.  It was like being enfolded in a  loving embrace.  Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy  and wonder, not grief or loneliness.  She need never feel alone  again.       Returning her attention to the dog, she spoke to him.  "You  know, fella, I have a box in the basement that I think you’d  like.  There’s a tree in it and some decorations and lights that  will impress you like crazy!  And I think I can find that old  stable down there, too.  What d’ya say we go hunt it up?"       The puppy barked happily in agreement, as if he understood  every word.  Stella got up, placed the puppy on the floor and  together they went down to the basement, reading to make a  Christmas together.                       By Cathy Miller  Reprinted by permission of Cathy Miller, (c) 1997 from Chicken  Soup for the Pet Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor  Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M., and Carol Kline.

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Filed under: Happiness Loneliness

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