My husband passed away after 62 years of marriage. At his funeral, a young girl approached me, handed me an envelope, and said, "He asked me to give this to you today."

She handed him a simple white envelope. "Your husband... he asked me to give this to you today. At his funeral. He said I had to wait until this very day."

She handed over a simple white envelope.

Before I could ask her name, how she knew Harold, or why a child had been carrying a message for a sick man for months, she turned and ran out of the church before I could ask another question.

My son touched my arm. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"Very well... I'm fine."

I slipped the envelope into my purse and didn't mention it again.

I opened it at the kitchen table that evening, after everyone had gone home and the house had fallen into the peculiar silence that follows a funeral.

A child had been carrying a message for a sick man for months.