My name is Arthur and Im 61 years old. Right now, I dont live in England.
Ive been a widower for three years. When Grace passed away, I stayed on in the house where wed raised our children. Suddenly, it all felt much too big and empty. My children live in different cities, each with families of their own. They ring me every Sunday and come round at Christmas, but for the rest of the year, its just me and silence.
I spent 38 years as a primary school teacher. I retired thinking Id enjoy a bit of rest, but the truth is, I had no idea what to do with myself. The first few months, I sat in front of the telly all day, eating poorly, letting myself go.
When my daughter Charlotte visited, she nearly broke down in tears.
Dad, you look like a ghost.
And she was right.
About six months ago, I realised I couldnt go on like that. I began taking a stroll every morning in the park near my house. Theres a certain bench beneath a large oak, overlooking a little duck pond. I sit there every day. The spot is peaceful, but its not lonely. Its alive.
Roughly two months ago, I noticed a woman. She has short white hair, large glasses, and always wears a colourful jumper, whatever the weather. We sit on benches opposite each other. At first, we just nodded.
Until one day, she sat down on my bench.
Is this your bench? she asked, smiling.
Its not mine, but I usually sit here.
Well, join me then. Theres room for two.
Thats how it all began.
I told her about Grace. How she loved the ducks. How she said they were free, but chose to stay because someone cared for them.
The woman looked at me with that understanding only people whove experienced loss have.
Five years for me, she said quietly. My husband. Cancer.
From that day on, we became companions of the same bench.
Sometimes wed chat, sometimes wed just sit in silence. One day, she brought me a flask of coffee. Another time, I brought her bread for the ducks. She laughed like a child as we fed them together.
Her name is Harriet.
One day, she gave me a hand-knitted jumper. Blue. My favourite colour, though Id never told her.
I see you here every day, she smiled. You start to notice things.
We talked about life, about losing loved ones, about the present. About how love cant be replaced, but the heart is bigger than you think.
Yesterday, for the first time in three years, I invited someone round to my house. I cooked using Graces old recipe. It wasnt perfect, but it was real.
We talked for hours. We laughed. We shared.
When she left, she gave me a long hug.
One of those hugs that reminds you youre alive.
Today, I went to the park again. She was there, with two books.
Ones for you, she said. Shall we read together?
I sat a little closer.
And for the first time in three years, I felt hope.
I dont know what I am to Harriet. And Im in no rush to find out.
All I know is, Im no longer afraid of tomorrow.
My name is Arthur.
And a stranger on a park bench gave me back my will to live.
Do you believe in second chances?
Has a stranger ever become important to you?
What do you miss most when you have no one to share your life with?
