Last night, after finishing dinner at about 8pm, we heard a rustling at the door.
My sister noticed a brown envelope on the doormat with mum’s name scrawled on the front. She could feel something spongy inside, and gave it to mum. “It’s probably a card from a kid or something,” she said as she took plates away to the kitchen.
Mum opened the envelope.
It was empty, aside from £500 in twenties. There was no note. No indication of who it was from. No idea who it could have been.
Thanks to the incredible kindness from our stranger, we can now afford to pay for flowers at dad’s funeral next week. Today, we spoke to a lovely indie florist and mum ordered red roses, with my sister and me choosing a simple open floral heart.
Through such a terrible loss, I’m really starting to see the good that’s in people’s hearts. I’ve never known such an outpouring of love for someone. As I said yesterday, I’m so proud my dad was loved by everyone he met, and I’m proud to be able to call him my father.