I was a receptionist. His husband, Jason, was the Assistant Director of Nursing. Often Jason would be called in while they were out somewhere together.
Due to some vision and health issues, he did not drive. Instead, he'd wait in the lobby, always patient, always pleasant. We'd chat. We became friends.
He was always so sweet and kind to me.
One day, he came into the hospital with a homemade, baked from scratch, strawberry cake. He said it was for me. It was made with love. I knew it.
And, it was so freaking delicious.
I had one slice of that love and shared it with my mom, aunt, and others who I cannot remember all these years later. I remember the goodness, literal and figurative goodness. I remember the kindness. I was so taken back by the pure thoughtfulness.
The only thing he asked is that I return the antique cake dish.
I was newly separated, going through a divorce, and other things few people knew about. It was among the most difficult times of my life, and Mr. Gary baked me a cake just because. The part of me that still has faith still believes that that is what the love of God looks and feels like.
Rest so peacefully, Mr. Gary.
I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Jason.
Thank you both for thinking of me as your "baby girl."
I do not have a picture of this dear, sweet man that is mine to share. Instead, I'll share what I have...
