At the cemetery, I knelt to slip the bouquet into the brass holder.  With one hand, I held the greenery.  I carefully pushed the blooms aside and slipped the ferns down deep to help them last at least a day or two.  Then I stood and as I always do, I snapped a picture of my in-laws’ grave freshly adorned.  The little angel in her silver basket maintained her eternal gaze over the long stretch of ground.

I should have been cleaning house but instead I spent the day driving from distraction to distraction.  A cup of coffee, my friend John’s garage sale, the Waldo Flea Market.  Late in the day I drove down Oak and stopped at a house where three women sat in folding chairs over boxes of books and wracks of clothes.  There I found a leather jacket, the odd pair of slacks, and an angel to hang on my door as the autumn dances forward and winter comes.

One of the ladies touched my sleeve and said, I didn’t see this jacket, I might have kept it back, it’s very nice, and I returned her smile.  It’s mine, I told her.  It belonged to my mother-in-law.  I wore it to her grave today, for the anniversary of her passing.  She patted my arm and asked if I had brought flowers.  My smiled widened but a little flutter of pain rose in my breast.  I paid for my purchases and went on, home, wearing Joanna’s jacket.  I heard again her voice saying, Hi, Corinne! when I walked into her room all those nights, in the months and weeks before she died with her children and her husband beside her and me standing nearby.

I have nothing about which to be sad today, not really; but still, I feel the fullness of time gathering around me.  I walked from the car to my porch, passing the overgrown perennials in my little garden.  The house stood empty, silent.  I took my time.

It’s the eighth day of the thirty-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Joanna’s jacket and her secretary, filled with lovely mementos of her travels with Jay.  

I cherish these in memory of Joanna.