We had been on the road for over ten hours and decided to stay the night somewhere near where dear friends are now living. Breakfast and a visit before heading on to the scheduled visit with my brother-and-sister-in-love seemed perfect.
With the help of another friend who was reading reviews online, we settled on a private (rather than a chain) hotel, and while I was checking in sitting on the front desk was a Santa Clause dish filled with the soft peppermint candies my dear friend now calls “therapy mints.”
“Oh, you have therapy mints,” I began to share. “These are the candies my friend’s late husband always gave her. She did save them but she did not eat them. A dietician would not eat pure sugar. After he passed, she found them everywhere: at his work when she took the death certificate; at the hair salon; at the bed-and-breakfast when she returned to the city in which he had died. For years now, I have been finding them and I always take some for her. It is odd, too, because I worked in the candy section in a grocery store years ago and I had never seen this soft peppermint candy. And now her father is on hospice care and she is away from her home caring for him. I will take one for her. She eats them in loving memory now.”
The desk clerk said, “Wait there. I will be right back.” She came back with a baggie. “That is such a sweet story,” she began to stuff the baggie with mints, “so take these for her.”
When my friend called to ask how our accommodations were, I shared what had happened and said, “The location was meant to be.”
As I heard those words I saw it spelled out as mint-to-be….