I am re-blogging this post because it is also about the first and last Mother’s Days with my husband.
This morning I had to stop at a drug store in which all the pharmacists know and likely pity me by sight.
To look at the cheerful carnation pink and red of Valentine’s Day displays is almost as sobering as it was to walk into a stationery store last June and come face-to-face with the Father’s Day cards. I wheeled around and hastened back out the door as if the cards might swoop down and attack like Alfred Hitchcock fowl–a murder of crows, an unkindness of ravens, a sedge of bitterns. (I am quite the fan of “terms of venery.”)
I do realize this “woe-is-me” me is not my most attractive self, but there you have it.
Last Valentine’s Day, Jim handed me a box wrapped in shiny Boston Celtics green. It matched the boxes I had seen and knew contained necklaces he carefully had chosen as birthday…
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