My husband drove me to town today to pick up the pies. He let me off at the curb and circled back for me as there was no parking. I hobbled into a small local restaurant known for their amazing baked goods, among them: roasted pumpkin pie with mascarpone whipped cream.
I happen to be known at this restaurant (not surprising)! The owner noticed my bright pink ankle support and unusually slow, wobbly gait.
“Falling is so scary,” she said. “Glad we could do the pies for you. Now I’ll get someone to help you carry them.”
A young man appeared at my side with the pies in his hands. He waited until my husband arrived on the street in front of us and wished me a Happy Thanksgiving. I wanted to thank him by name, but I did not know it. He introduced himself as “Matthew.” I assured him that I would not forget that name.
I happen to know the derivation of his name. “Matthew” is from the Hebrew and it means: Gift of the Lord. It was my beloved brother’s name and he was most certainly a gift.
I felt my eyes fill with grateful tears. It’s been sixteen years since Matt died but he is always with me. I will forever be thankful for him.