He blew into her life like dust on the wind. From that moment on her life irrevocably changed. For one month, one month when spring fills the air with the scent of flowers, they love on borrowed time. Then, when time runs out, all that is left of him is a lifetime of loneliness filled with memories.
The decision she makes forever haunts her. She sends the one love of her life away because it is the
thing to do. Life had intervened with love. Priorities. Responsibilities. Obligations. A widow with two children to raise. It is the only choice she can make.
And now, each year, when spring rolls around, when flowers are in full bloom, she sits under the stars, and remembers.
It was in the spring of my thirty-fifth year when I became disillusioned with the life I was leading. No—disillusioned is too harsh a word and not accurate to describe the way I was feeling. I would say it was dissatisfaction more than anything else.
I was tired of doing the right things, saying the right things, going along, not giving a thought to what I wanted, not giving one thought to what lay in the bottom of my heart.
My soul became restless, haunting me with dreams of years gone by. Dreams that had been set aside and forgotten so I could raise a family. My twins were eight years old when their father died, leaving me alone to raise them on my own. I lay my dreams aside and poured myself into devoting all my waking hours to my children.
The flowers in my garden were in full bloom that spring. A light April rain misted the windows as I stood with my palms flat against the glass. I wanted to see if the coolness would calm the restlessness I felt. Days like this made me think of my husband. He had died on such a day, eight years earlier. The roads had been slick and he’d lost control of the car. For me, time had stopped and had been slow-moving ever since. He’d been a good man, a good husband and father.
I heard Chad and Natalie arguing about what to watch on TV. I wanted to scream at them to shut up, to stop it, that I’d had enough of their bickering and sense-less arguments but I held it inside. I always did. I rarely raised my voice. That’s what good mothers did, wasn’t it?
They were only children after all. This too shall pass, I told myself soothingly. This too shall pass.