Come Sunday

The future danced

Beyond my thoughts

He had said, “Come Sunday,

We would be together again-

Just hang on to the hope ahead.”

Then it happened!

I said the wrong thing

Stress exploded

Shattering the promise

Rivers of regret flooded my soul

Tears watered my pillow

As I waited-broken and alone

Haunting questions

Would he forgive? Is he okay?

Already hurt by the grief of loss

Making arrangements

Through the cords of pain

Others imposing their will

Taking away his right to be

Wasn’t that what I had done?

So I watched for him

Waiting, listening, not knowing

Praying his words would come true

For he had said, “Come Sunday,

We would be together again.”

Friday brought him close enough

To see him briefly

And to say words shrouded

In the sadness of broken dreams

Then a phone call, a glimmer of hope

And I said, “We didn’t make it to Sunday did we?”

He asked in a voice as broken as mine

“Do you want to make it to Sunday?”

“Oh, Yes!” I cried. “Come see me when you can.”

My heart soared on wings of love

As on Saturday, God showed us forgiving grace

“Come Sunday” and my love was here!”