If It's Meant To Be, It Will Be!

Author Unknown

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost
in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification
so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and
a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.

The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the
return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue.
Then I saw the dateline -1924. The letter had been written almost sixty
years ago.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue
stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a 'Dear
John' letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael and
said that the writer could not see him any more because her mother forbade
it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him. It was signed,
Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name
Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called
information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the
envelope.

'Operator,' I began, 'this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the
owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is
a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?'

She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then
said, 'Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can't give you
the number.' She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain
my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me. I waited a
few minutes and then she was back on the line. 'I have a party who will
speak with you.'

I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the
name of Hannah. She gasped, 'Oh! we bought this house from a family who had
a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!'

'Would you know where that family could be located now?' I asked. 'I
remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years
ago,' the woman said. 'Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be
able to track down the daughter.'

She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. They told
me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have a phone
number for where they thought the daughter might be living. I thanked them
and phoned. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now
living in a nursing home.

This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a
big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and
a letter that was almost 60 years old?

Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be
living and the man who answered the phone told me, 'Yes, Hannah is staying
with us.'

Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see
her. 'Well,' he said hesitatingly, 'if you want to take a chance, she
might be in the day room watching television.' I thanked him and drove
over to the nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the
door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day
room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah.

She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm smile and a twinkle in
her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The
second she saw the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the
left, she took a deep breath and said, 'Young man, this letter was the last
contact I ever had with Michael.'

She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said softly, 'I
loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I
was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the
actor.'

'Yes,' she continued, 'Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you
should find him, tell him I think of him often and,' she hesitated for a
moment, almost biting her lip, 'tell him I still love him. You know,' she
said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, 'I never did marry, I
guess no one ever matched up to Michael.'

I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator to the first floor
and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, 'Was the old lady able
to help you?' I told him she had given me a lead. 'At least I have a last
name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day
trying to find the owner of this wallet.'

I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red
lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, ' Hey, wait a minute!
That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that right red
lacing. He's always losing that wallet must have found it in the halls at
least three times.'

'Who's Mr. Goldstein?' I asked as my hand began to shake. 'He's one of the
old timers on the 8th floor. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He
must have lost it on one of his walks.' I thanked the guard and quickly ran
back to the nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went
back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.

On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, 'I think he's still in the day
room. He likes to read at night. He's a darling old man. 'We went to the
only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The
nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein
looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, 'Oh, it
is missing!'

'This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?'

I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with
relief and said, 'Yes, that's it! It must have dropped out of my pocket
this afternoon. I want to give you a reward.'

'No, thank you,' I said. 'But I have to tell you something. I read the
letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet.' The smile on his
face suddenly disappeared. 'You read that letter?'

'Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is.' He suddenly grew
pale. 'Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as
she was? Please, please tell me,' he begged.

'She's fine ... just as pretty as when you knew her.' I said softly. The
old man smiled with anticipation and asked, 'Could you tell me where she
is? I want to call her tomorrow.' He grabbed my hand and said, 'You know
something, mister, I was so in love with that girl that when that letter
came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I've always loved
her.'

'Mr. Goldstein,' I said, 'come with me. 'We took the elevator down to the
third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little
night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone
watching the television. The nurse walked over to her. 'Hannah,' she said
softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. 'Do
you know this man?'

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't say a word.
Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, 'Hannah, it's Michael. Do you
remember me?'

She gasped, 'Michael! I don't believe it! Michael! It's you! My Michael!'

He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurse and I left with
tears streaming down our faces.

'See,' I said. 'See how the Good Lord works! If it's meant to be, it will
be.' About three weeks later I got a call at my office from the nursing
home. 'Can you get away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah
are going to tie the knot!'

It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the nursing home dressed
up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked
beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They made me their
best man. The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to
see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers,
you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years!

Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh-