After my wife passed away, I was still wearing my mourning clothes and had no idea what was going on. When I returned home from her funeral, I was even more shocked.
There were fifteen strangers riding motorcycles in my home, engaging in friendly conversation with my son.
I questioned each person who they were and why they were in my home during this trying time for me, and they all offered their sincere condolences.
I wanted to yell and chase them away at first, but what I saw made me change my mind.
Two were repairing the porch, one was patching holes in the roof, and three were painting the walls of the living room. My son was seated at the table in the kitchen.
Calmly, he muttered, “Pardon me, Dad.” 
“Son, what happened? What am I supposed to forgive you for?
“I was powerless to stop them from breaking into the apartment while you were away. They appeared to be preparing something hazardous, but I was even more astonished to find out the truth.
He stated that my wife wanted him to take care of me before she died away so I wouldn’t be alone, and that these people—friends from her motorcycle club—came to assist us in rebuilding the house and uniting our family.
We worked together for three days, shared laughs, reminisced about Sarah, and discussed life. I had the impression that I was no longer alone when the bikers went. The house had turned into a pleasant and nurturing place, my son was back at my side, and his family helped me.
This was all organized by Sarah. She wanted to ensure that I wouldn’t be left alone and could carry on with my life. For the first time since the funeral, I sensed love filling the house that night.
I came to understand that life goes on and that family is a strength that always takes us back home because of these folks, whom I had initially feared.
