Then I learned about a GoFundMe he’d quietly started for me, three years before his death, totaling $24,800. Instead of spending it on myself, I hosted a community dinner called “A Table for Everyone,” feeding widows, lonely elders, and families—honoring his love for people and food.
The dinners grew into a community tradition, with a Story Wall for sharing memories. Acts of kindness he’d performed years earlier, like helping a stranger with $20, returned to support this space.
Months later, a man began visiting for coffee, thoughtful and present, helping me carry forward without replacing the past. He even brought a new blue robe, a quiet symbol of care.
I keep writing—tweets, letters, stories—for him, for me, and for anyone who needs to believe that love doesn’t vanish. Love isn’t always loud, but it echoes, steady and true.
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