The face of grief

We've rented pasture to a young couple for their two horses for some time. They've never been a problem to us. In fact, it's the easiest money we've ever made. Their home isn't far from here, so it's a handy place for them to board their animals; and they haven't intruded on us in any way.

I knew there were problems in their marriage recently, but he never mentioned it when he came out, and of course I didn't ask.

Today he told me what I already knew; it broke my heart to listen.

"I've had best friends die and it wasn't as bad as this."

"I hate coming home and having the house so quiet; I hate the silence."

He's lost thirty-five pounds; he's a mere shadow of his former self.

The grief was so deep I could feel the heaviness like something tangible, and it's still with me even though he's gone home.

How I wish, just for today, I had a magic wand so I could make it better for this broken-hearted, generous young man.

But it's like the old folk song says: "You've gotta walk that lonesome valley; you've gotta go there by yourself. Nobody else can walk it for you. You've gotta walk it by yourself."

I hope his valley isn't too deep or too long.