With my errands out of the way, I stopped off at the golf range and bought a bucket of balls. I shoved the change into the snug pocket of my jeans, then headed out to the range.
My husband, John, had bought me my very first set of clubs and taught me to golf nearly twenty years ago. He had been so patient as I hit the ball into the trees and water—everywhere but into the hole. Once I improved John and I met at the golf course after work several times a week to play a round.
It felt right to hit a few balls today. It would have been our fifty-second wedding anniversary if John were still alive. Now he stayed close to me with the reminder that hung from a chain around my neck—a gold heart with a diamond, fashioned from my wedding band and engagement ring.
That unique pendant was my most precious possession. I never took it off. Back at home I remembered the change left over from the bucket of balls. I worked my hand into my pocket, and felt something in there besides money—something familiar. Something that did not belong in my pocket.
I struggled to pull it out and looked down at my hand. Sitting in the center of my palm was—my gold heart!
I gasped as my other hand flew to my chest. The chain was gone—it must have broken. But then how did my gold heart make it into that skintight pocket?
Now, years later, I still get teary-eyed when I remember my perfect anniversary gift. A gift from my guardian angel.
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