I have learned much about loss from their pain.
Oftentimes it takes the darkness of another’s grief to shed light on our own.
THE LOOKING GLASS
MY LAST BOOK SIGNING of that remarkable year was at a Wal-Mart in West Valley City, just west of the Salt Lake valley. It was the last Saturday to shop before Christmas. By the time I arrived for the event, many in line had been waiting for more than two hours. I sat down at my table, rubbed my wrist, and began to sign. About a half hour into the signing a woman walked up outside the roped stanchions of the line and just stared at me. Then she shouted at me.
“I don’t have time to wait in your line, Mr. Evans,” she said.
The line quieted and those near the table turned to see who had created the disturbance. As I glanced up I noticed there was something dark and soulful about the woman’s eyes.
“I just wanted you to know that my little girl was killed by a car last Thursday. I have read your book every day since then and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me going.”
I walked around the table and embraced the woman as she buried her head in my shoulder and wept. A few minutes later I returned to the table. The woman drifted off into the crowd. Those in line stood in stunned silence. After a moment a woman in line said, “I read that this happens at your book signings.”
“Almost every one,” I replied.
