Special Delivery

A month after my wife died and my life felt so empty, the only thing I had to look forward to was Amazon

- DAVE COMBS

I checked my watch. 8:45 P.M. It looked as if the shorts I'd ordered from Amazon weren't going to get here tonight. Maybe I should just go to bed. That's what things had come to since my wife, Linda, died a month earlier. My life felt so empty, the only thing I had to look forward to were Amazon deliveries. It wasn't the items that I needed as much as the few moments of human connection with the drivers.

Lord, I never knew it was possible to be this lonely. Linda and I had been married for almost 54 years. We'd been more in love than ever when she died suddenly of a brain aneurysm on October 19. Now it was mid-November. The friends who had checked in on me so vigilantly at first came around less. Linda and I hadn't had children. It was just me rattling around our house, trying to figure out what to do with myself.

Nothing was the same without her.

Food didn't taste as good. Our TV shows weren't as entertaining. Music-my greatest passion after Linda - didn't move me the way it used to, not even our favorite song. I could hardly bring myself to play piano, which had always been my way to unwind. My beloved Steinway grand piano sat untouched in the corner of our living room. It was probably as lonely as I was.

I was about to get ready for bed when I received a notification. My front door camera showed someone on the porch.

I went to the door. There was my Amazon package, but the delivery person was already back in her car. Lately I'd noticed more drivers using their own cars. This driver had two kids with her.

I gave them a friendly wave, and the passenger window slid down. "Thank you!" I said.

"You're welcome," the driver said, her voice full of cheer. "Have a blessed night!"

Blessed. That wasn't what I expected from a delivery driver. I walked over to the car. "I'm Dave," I said.