Jenni and Luc's Wedding!

My sister Jenni got married again this past week and it was great! Welcome to the family Luc!

A Salute to Girlfriends

Growing up, I didn't really make friends easily. I was very very very shy, and realize now that I just never gave people the chance to get to know me. Inside though, I really wanted to have friends--people to have over for sleepovers, to go shopping with, giggle and be silly with, and just be there for each other. I have thirty years under my belt now and I know that dream has come true and is still happening. I have GREAT girlfriends of all ages and different areas of life. I am so grateful for them, the fun that we have together, and the greatness of their hearts. Here's to all the girlfriends in the world. Where would we be without them? I have many more friends that I dearly love--but just don't have pictures with them that are on the computer!

A Special Memory

Tonight I had the special opportunity of being with my sister Emily when she received her patriarchal blessing. It was an amazing experience and she is an amazing young woman. I think our world would be grayer if she wasn't around. Here are some special pictures of my baby sister to share with you.

Pine spa baths

I have recently discovered a delightful way to end the day! I LOVE the smell of pine. It is the scent of Christmas trees, and the lumber mill back home. I recently read about pine spa baths and have been taking one every night. They are heavenly. Apparently there are different ways of doing them, but I put several drops of pine essential oil under the water while it is running. The scent is intoxicating and it leaves your skin feeling very soft. On days when I really need to relax, I'll light some pine scented candles and turn off the light. I like to put on lotion when I'm done. Right now I'm in love with Jergens soft shimmer lotion. It makes your skin sparkle! I then put on my silk jammies and I am ready for bed. I highly recommend it! If you don't like pine-scented things, you can use any other essential oil. Just be sure to do a small skin test to make sure you're not allergic first.

Behind the Gold (story)

It was always his dream, not mine.
I never wanted to be married to a face on a Wheaties box.
"One more time Sarah," my husband Brian said to me after Athens, "I’ll be thirty-two; Bejing’s my last chance.”
Four more years have brought us to today—four more years of training thirteen hours a day, trying to run a little faster. He was training in California when the baby came.

I don't understand it. I don't get why two silvers and a bronze can't be enough, but I'm here. My stomach sinks and my heart jumps into my throat as the sound of the starting gun rips through the air, and he explodes into first place.
"Come on Brian!" I yell.
He is passed by another runner as they head into the second lap, and I start to pray every prayer I know. I am selfish. I want Brian to win for him, for his dream, but I also want him to win because I need this to be over.

They head into the home stretch, and I know he's not going to make it. I sit back down, unable to watch anymore. When suddenly the crowd’s cheers become deafening, I vault out of my seat and nearly fall over the rail in front of me. I watch him, marveling at his determination and strength, as he pulls ahead and crosses the line—finally, an Olympic gold medal champion. He raises his arms in victory, and the electricity going through my body is so intense that for a moment I just stand there. I finally sit down and press my forehead against the rail separating us. Suddenly I feel strong arms lifting me out of my seat and I look into the face of my beloved, the gold medal champion. He lifts me over the rail and into his arms, swinging me around and covering my tear-stained face with kisses.

A friend of mine asked me once, on a particularly bad day, why I continued to be there for Brian. I know the answer now, as the American flag is raised and the national anthem of my country comes over the speaker. I watch Brian mouth the sacred words, his eyes luminous from his tears. I will always be there for him, because after eleven years of marriage, phone calls at three in the morning just to tell me he loves me, soft kisses against my forehead, love letters from all over the world, and a baby that looks like him when he smiles, there is nowhere else I could be.

It is nearly midnight before he is able to leave the track. He smiles as he sees me, and runs a hand over my hair before wrapping his arm around my waist.
"Let's go home," he whispers. It is more than a suggestion, it is a promise. I smile in absolute contentment, and put my head on his shoulder as we walk away.
He is my dream.

The Night Rosie Came Home (Story)

The very air around Grace Garrett smelled of roses. Every morning she bathed with the pink rose-scented bath pearls she bought out of the tall glass jars at Cordie's Drug Store. Her clothes hung on rose-scented hangers, her drawers were filled with rose-petal sachets, and each morning and night when she brushed her long snow white hair she sprayed rose water on her brush so even her hair smelled like roses. When she was a child she had been terrified of the dark, seeing monsters behind every shadow. Late one night she woke up crying, dreaming of being taken away and her mother had come to her. She held the child in her arms and comfort was found in the softness of her hair brushing against Grace’s cheek, the silky feel of her nightgown, and the beating of her heart as she cradled the scared little girl against her. She cupped Grace’s face in her hand and then smiled as she told her that she had an idea. Her mother went outside to her rose garden and clipped an ivory-colored rose. She brought it into her daughter's room and told her that the rose had been kissed by moonlight.
"Where there is beauty," her mother had said in an enchanting voice, as if she was casting some lovely spell, "the darkness has no power." There was always a white rose in the room after that. Grace only had to brush her hand over the velvety petals and she was no longer afraid.

She always associated roses with all that was beautiful. When she was sixteen and David Garrett asked her to the high school "Spring Garden" dance, her mother had made her the most beautiful dress of a white satin and let her wear rouge for the first time. She sprayed rose water all over and when David came to pick her up he stared at her for an entire minute before saying hello. Ever since that night, whenever took her in his arms he whispered tenderly in her ear, "My rose, my beautiful rose."
When she married David Garrett in the little white church on 21st street, she carried pink and white roses in her bouquet. Her sister Sadie and her best friend Miriam McEwan were bridesmaids and dressed in pink and white soft chiffon. Barbara Allen, the little three year old she babysat on Thursday nights, was the flower girl and tossed white and pink rose petals down the aisle while excitedly shouting, despite her mother's desperate attempts to quiet her, "My Dracie's dittin mawied!"
When the Garretts purchased their new home, still so much in love, they had planted a rose garden full of Moon's Delight, Crimson Kiss, Heaven's Glory, Dreamy Cream, and Love's Sonata. She had always loved rose names, to her they sounded like poetry. It came as no surprise to anyone that the dark haired little baby that eventually came to the happy couple in early June was named after the flower her mother loved. She was a beautiful baby with thick dark hair and her father's deep blue eyes. Every year exactly on the Rose's birthday, they would plant another rose bush in her honor.

She had been out among the roses on a morning early in July, having woken up with an uneasy feeling. As always, the dew-kissed roses soothed her soul. As she was getting ready for the day, wrapping her snow white hair in a bun, Grace looked at the picture on her nightstand of her four year old daughter among the roses. It seemed another life time ago that she had taken that picture, quietly sneaking up on the little girl who was fingering the delicate flowers with a priceless wonderment in her eyes. The picture was faded now and yellowed around the edges. She picked it up and kissed the precious face. She held it up to her heart for a moment, but only a moment because the sun was up and there was work to be done. She went into the kitchen and took a starched white apron from the hook by the stove. Then, she took down the dark blue coffee pot Aunt Pearl gave her for her wedding. She had been brewing coffee in it every morning for sixty years and though she had received other coffee makers somehow the coffee didn't taste the same or emit the same comfortable smell as when she brewed it in her old coffee pot. She whipped up some eggs and then poured them in the buttered frying pan. While she scrambled the eggs into a fluffy yellow mass, she placed two slices of bacon in another pan and soon was sitting down to a warm breakfast. It was only at mealtimes, when she took only one of the blue spray china plates down from the cupboard that she felt lonely. She looked down at her hands, so old and wrinkled, and sighed as she finished her breakfast.

After breakfast she set to work on a batch of rolls. She loved baking bread; loved the way that her hands felt as she kneaded the dough, the way the house filled up with the warm scent, and most of all she loved how she could take the bread out of the oven and look at it--feeling a sense of wonderment that she could create something like that entirely from scratch. While the rolls were baking she came into the living room to fluff the pillows on the sofa and dust the piano. She stopped as she came to the mirror in the hall, the same one her mother had hanging up in her bedroom years ago. She brushed her hands over her face; she would be eighty two in three days, she couldn't believe it. She was a petite woman, just over five feet four inches. She had green eyes that her father used to say were the color of sugar snap peas bathing in the sunshine. For a moment, she took the pins out of her long white hair and let it fall down around her shoulders. She fingered the white locks that had once been the color of molasses, and thought back to the summer day when she and David had sat in his tree house drinking grape soda pop, their bare feet dangling over the leaves in the tree. They had been fourteen then, the budding blossom of their love becoming sweeter every day.
"Promise me something," David had said smiling.
"What?" she asked, returning the smile.
"Never cut your hair," he said simply and in sixty-eight years she never had more than a trim.

Grace Garret's pillow rolls were well known throughout the community of Delford Oregon. Every year for the community Thanksgiving potluck dinner she made twelve dozen rolls. Whenever there was a new baby born in her congregation of the Delford Community of Christ Church, a batch of rolls was made for the new mother. When Agnes Blake passed away, she made rolls for the funeral luncheon and when the Darcy's house burned down she made rolls every night and delivered them to the hotel where the family was staying. They came to be known as pillow rolls for the way they puffed up large and fluffy, and the centers of the rolls were feather soft. This batch was for her neighbor, Miriam Cummings, who used to be Miriam McEwan, her best friend since 1st grade. The years had taken their toll on Miriam, who had moved herself and her two children home after her husband Ralph had left her for a younger woman. Although that had been over forty years ago, the loneliness she had suffered still clouded the once happy eyes and brought age before its time to the freckled-face, bright-eyed girl Grace used to know. Her own loneliness had been lessened just by knowing that Miriam was next door. They often sat on the red porch swing at nights and watched the stars as they talked about their childhood. Grace sighed as she piled warm rolls into a bread basket filled with a red-checked dish towel. After today there would be no more evening chats. Miriam's daughter Annie had come to town two days ago to take her mother to a nursing home in Oklahoma, where Annie lived. They were leaving at 10:00 that morning.

"Mornin' Gracie," Miriam said smiling slightly as she swept the porch.
"Mornin' Miri," she replied handing her the basket of rolls. "I thought you could use these for the trip." The shadow descended on her friend's features and she turned and looked at the mountains in their view. She rested her chin on the broomstick and sighed heavily.
"You'll be back to visit," Grace said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Miriam turned to look at her incredulously, "I don't think so."
The door opened and Annie Burrows came out carrying a suitcase, her husband Al came out behind her. "Mother, honestly you don't need to sweep the porch, come and sit down and rest. We'll take care of that."
"I want to sweep the porch," Miriam said with an edge in her voice. "I don't want to rest."
"We're going to be late," Annie said briskly, "I don't want to miss the flight." She turned to Grace as if she just noticed she was there and smiled slightly, "Hello Mrs. Garrett, how are you?"
"Hello Annie," she replied. Annie had been twelve when her father left and had taken it harder than her younger brother. She and her father had been so close and when he left Annie turned into bitter child, angry at the entire world. The woman that stood before her now seemed no different.
"Mom, we've got to go, come on," she said as she loaded the suitcases in the car.
"I've got to finish sweeping the porch," she said turning back to her work.
"Mom, for heaven's sake, you don't have to do that."
"Anne," her mother said without looking up, "I am not leaving until I sweep the porch."
For a few moments, the only sound that could be heard was the soft swishing of the bristles hitting the porch and a lone bird chirping in the birch tree.
"I can't do it Gracie. I just can't do it," Miriam whispered fiercely but softly so her daughter wouldn't hear. "I can't leave my home."
Suddenly Grace's throat became tight but she tried to smile for the sake of her friend. "She loves you. She only wants what's best for you."
"I'm the parent; I thought I was the one that knew what was best." Miriam whispered and her daughter turned towards her.
"Mom, for Pete's sake, come on!" she shouted and when Miriam turned towards her friend, Grace saw the bitter defeat in her eyes, as if she was ready to accept her fate. She hugged Grace to her, and the two held onto each other for a moment.
"You've been the best friend a gal could have," Miriam whispered.
"You too," Grace whispered back, her voice breaking and she handed Miriam the rolls. "Write to me" she said as Miriam turned towards the car.
"I will," Miriam nodded and as she drove away she held up her hand and waved until they were out of sight. Grace knew she would never forget the look in her friend's eyes as she began to let go of home. It was a familiar look, one she had seen before—almost seven years ago.

She had found him in the rose garden that morning, breathing heavily from the laborious effort it took to wheel his chair with his one good hand. She brought him some chocolate milk, his substitute morning drink now that the doctor had banned coffee. She stood at the back door and watched him for a moment as he reached a shaking hand out to finger one of the rose petals. He drew his hand away and turned from her as soon as he saw her coming. That was the hardest part of all of this, the way he looked at her, his eyes filled with so much pain. She handed him the milk in his good hand, and then placed a hand over the limp one that hung in his lap.
"They’re sending someone over soon. They'll take us over there in a van. They..." she paused and took a deep breath to steady herself, "They said I could stay with you the first night."
He looked up at her, and she saw tears brimming in his eyes. He murmured something and then cursed in frustration. She brought up her hand to his face and looked him in the eyes. She was the only one who could still understand him after his stroke.
"I know you don't want to go but it's a good place. They'll take care of you."
He brought a shaking hand up to her face and placed it there. He murmured slowly, painfully trying to enunciate his words. "You...one...takes...care...of...me."
She put her forehead against his, "I always will David. I always will. But I need some help to do that now."

She held his hand as the nurse wheeled him down the hall. She was glad that there was cheery wallpaper on the wall, as well as pictures and baskets of artificial flowers everywhere. David had to have flowers around him. She put their wedding picture on his nightstand, and while the nurse was helping him into bed, she stared at it for a few moments. She could still hear his voice so clear as he sang "Amazing Grace" while holding her hand at their reception. She looked at the man in the bed, and loved him more now than that day so long ago.
"This room is wonderful," she said brightly, getting up and opening up the large curtains so the sunlight could pour in. David needed, craved the sun, just like his beloved plants.
"Rosie...Rosie's picture," he murmured.
"Of course," she said brightly and took out the large framed picture of their daughter at sixteen; curly, dark hair falling all around her shoulders.
"She'll come see you soon David. I know she will," she said.
"Think...so?" he asked, a half smile curling the part of his lip that wasn't paralyzed.
"I know so," she said, and then tenderly kissed him on his forehead.

There had been a Doris Day movie on the old movie channel that first night in the nursing home and it was so light-hearted that the two who had spent only an occasional night away from each other since they were married and barely a day apart since they were fourteen years old, were able to put out of their minds for awhile the impending separation. When the movie was over though, and the lights were off, she found she couldn't sleep. Even though David was still in the room and she could hear him breathing, the small cot she was in seemed a thousand miles away. How could she leave him tomorrow? How could she go home to an empty house?
"Gracie...you still...there?" came the voice from the bed.
She closed her eyes in pain and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes, I'm still here." She heard his relieved sigh, and then soon heard his breathing slow and she knew he was asleep again. She did not sleep the rest of the night, just looked up at the ceiling and tried to count the number of pink tiles by the light of the moon. David woke up four more times during the night.
"Gracie...you still...there?" he'd ask.
"Yes Baby," she'd reply, "I'm still here." She left in the morning, kissing him tenderly on the forehead. She wrote him a note and promised to come back that night to have dinner with him. She had never felt so alone in her life as when she had opened her door for the first time and knew that David would never live in the house again.

She went to the nursing home on Ash Street every night at six o’clock for seven years to have dinner with David. At first they ate in the dining room, but eventually David's condition worsened and he could no longer leave his bed. He barely spoke anymore, but she had loved this man for over sixty years and was able to communicate without speaking. When she came to him that night, she kissed him tenderly, and held his hand as she told him about the day; how she had gone to the farmer's market and bought some fresh honey, and made pillow rolls. Her voice shook as she told him about Miriam's leaving. She felt the smallest curvature of his fingers over her hand and the look of love in his eyes as he watched her was all the comfort that she needed. She brushed her finger over his cheek, "I love you David," she whispered. His face lit up and slowly, he blinked his eyes. Leaving him that night was harder than it had been in a long time. It hurt to pass by Miriam's empty house, knowing that the friend who had been her constant companion since she was a child was on the other side of the country.

She unlocked the door, and stepped into the living room. It was then that she gave a cry of joy, for sitting on the pink velvet chair by the fireplace was her girl, her own dear girl with a countenance like a glorious sunset.
"Rosie," Grace cried as she crossed the distance between them, "Oh darling, I knew you'd come tonight, I knew it."
"Hello Mama," she replied. "I've missed you."
"Oh Darling, I've missed you too. Thank you for coming. Annie Cummings and her husband came here two days ago, told her mother that they were moving her to a home in Oklahoma and within two days she was gone. She was just gone! She'll never come home again. Oh Rosie, she'll never come home again," and with that she broke down crying for the first time. She could not keep her emotions hidden from her girl that knew her so well and it was foolish to try. She cried for awhile and then dried her eyes with the handkerchief she kept in her pocket.
"Have you gone to see your father?" she asked.
"I'll go there later; right now I just want to spend some time with you."
Grace smiled, "You are always here when I need you darling, I've been so lonely."
"Let's do something about that," her daughter replied smiling. "What would you like to do?"
"First, I'm going to make you some dinner! You look too skinny, don't they feed you there?" Her daughter rolled her eyes, "You say that every time I come Mama. No, I don't need dinner."
"Let me fix it anyway darling, it’s been such a long time."

Rose followed her into the kitchen and Grace turned towards her happily. "So darling, what's new?" She paused when she saw her daughter's face. "What is it my love?" she asked, stepping towards her.
"Mama," Rose began. "There's something I need to tell you. The reason I've come, I've...I've come to take you with me."
The image of Miriam's face in the car, knowing that she would never see her home again, suddenly came into her mind. She exhaled slowly, placing her hands against the counter. "No Rosie," she whispered.
"It's time Mama. You need to come with me."
Grace drew in a sharp breath, "When?"
"We'll leave in the morning," she replied.
Grace stared at her, her eyes widening. "Tomorrow?" she breathed. She turned and walked towards the window, standing by the white muslin curtains with the eyelet trim she made. The sun was setting through the trees, casting a pink and gold light across her face. Her eyes fell on the rose bushes, and for the first time the roses had no power over her fear. She turned back towards her child. "No, Rosie. I won’t go"
"Mama..."
"Rose, I can't do it. I can't go."
"Mama, don't be afraid. It's a beautiful place."
She had never raised her voice to her daughter, never once, "I'm not afraid Rose. I just can't go!" she shouted.
Her daughter stood up and crossed the room towards her. She put her arms around her and held her close. "It's going to be alright Mama," she whispered. "Don't be afraid."

She looked at her hands while she made cornbread that night. They were wrinkled, with protruding blue veins and brown age spots. When did she get so old? She remembered the first time she made her grandmother's corn bread recipe in this kitchen. It was their first wedding anniversary and they had no money to go anywhere, so she made a special dinner that night—spaghetti with Italian sauce and golden crusted cornbread. She had spent all afternoon in the kitchen preparing that dinner, brushing her hand over her abdomen where she was housing the only thing she could give him for their anniversary. When she told him her news that night, as they ate their dinner on a picnic blanket under the stars, he had cried. Wasn't that just last week?
"Is it pretty there?" she asked quietly as she put her chin in her hands and looked out the window at the mountain in her kitchen window view. The evening light cast an ethereal glow around the green mountain, causing it to shine like an emerald. Wisps from cottonwood trees danced around the air like summer snowflakes. She didn't think anywhere could be prettier than right here.
"You have no idea," her daughter replied. She was sitting at the kitchen table behind her, "You haven't seen pretty until you've seen it there."
"I'm glad," she sighed, "I couldn't live anywhere that wasn't pretty."
The silence fell again like a shroud. They had always been able to talk, even when Rose was a baby, there had been a special connection between the two of them, almost as if they could read each other’s thoughts. Now—it was so different.
"Mama," Rose said interrupting the silence. "I have all night, is their anything you want to do?"
"We have to go see your father," she said turning back around. "I have to tell him."
Rose smiled, "Let's go see daddy."

There was a look in David's eyes, a joyful rapture, when they rested on his beloved child as she walked through the door. Grace stood in the corner and watched as he reached out with shaking hands and touched the side of her face in almost a reverent manner for if there was one thing that David Garrett worshipped along with his god, and the love of his life, it was his little girl. Rose leaned down and kissed her father tenderly on the forehead. He couldn't speak, just stared up at her with happiness. Grace stepped across the room and took David's hand in hers.
"Look who came to see us honey," she said and for a moment it was a happy family reunion and then Grace remembered the reason why she had come and sadness settled over her.
"Darling, would you give us a minute," she said to their daughter.
"Of course," Rose said as she squeezed her father's hand. "I'll be right back daddy," she said as she walked out of the room.

She squeezed his hand and for a moment they just looked at each other, she could always get lost in those blue eyes. She remembered the first time she had looked into them, in Mrs. Marsden's 7th grade English class. She had fallen in love with that tow-head boy who was always looking over her shoulder onto her spelling list. There had never been another man in her heart. Her parents had worried at first, wanted her to meet other men to really know what she wanted. She had dated other men, but all of them served no purpose except to make her deeper in love with David.
"Honey, I...I...Rosie wants me to..." she started to say and then a tear slipped off of her cheek and fell on his face. He looked at her with a pained expression and then still not saying anything moved slowly over to the other side of the bed. He then looked up at her and held out his good arm. Her face crumpled, and she took off her shoes and lay on the bed next to him. He put his arm around her and she moved into him, burying her face in his chest. It had been so long since he had just held her.
"I love you David," she whispered, placing her head against his beating heart. "No matter what happens, I will always love you."

In the end, she couldn't tell him, she tried, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She had just kissed him tenderly, and told him she would return the next day at the same time. What would he think when she didn't come? Rose had wanted to spend some time with her father so she decided to give them some time alone and had walked home in the full moon light. She only lived two blocks away from the nursing home, and there were so many people out walking in Delford at night that she was never afraid to walk home on one of her later visits to David. Bob and Lizzie Mortimer were out walking and each waved to her with the hand they weren't using to hold to each other’s. She remembered back to the first time she had held David's hand, on the way home from the five and dime store where he had bought her a brown paper sack filled with malt balls. She remembered how safe she felt, how grown up and special, with that strong hand holding hers in his. She looked up at the stars, she loved the way the stars shone here, there were so many of them. She had visited her sister Sadie in Portland several years ago and was amazed at how few stars she could see at night. Who could live in a place where the stars didn't unfold like an endless diamond canopy? How could you not see the Milky Way every night, clear and bright, reminding you that you had a place in the universe? How could she leave? Tears burned in her eyes. When she came to her yard, she took off her shoes and her knee-high nylons and felt the cool crisp grass between her toes. She lie back on the grass, listening to the sounds of the crickets and the sprinklers in the yard next door. She lay there, looking up at the stars until she heard the soft footfall of her daughter coming up the walkway.

"Did you have a nice time?" she asked, swallowing hard to get the tears out of her voice.
"Very," Rose replied joining her on the grass.
"Darling, I...I can come back can't I?"
"Yes of course, if you need to," her daughter replied. A few moments of silence passed and then Rose spoke again, "What else would you like to do?" she asked.
"Well," Grace replied and strangely wanted to giggle, "I want a caramel apple."
"Let's do it," her daughter replied. They went into the kitchen and picked out two large granny smith apples and stuck the Popsicle sticks in them.
"I used to love these when I was a child," Grace said, twirling hers around on a stick. I used to get them every year when we'd go to the state fair. It was the only thing I wanted. Sadie always wanted popcorn, a pony ride and a ride on the Ferris wheel, but a caramel apple made me happy. There was this little stand that sold them every year for a nickel. They would dip the tips of them in sugar." She smiled at the memory as she started stirring the butter and brown sugar together. "I was married before the idea even occurred to me that I could make them myself."
"I remember the first time you made them for me," Rose said. "I was seven and you brought caramel apples to my Halloween party at school. You were the hit of the day."
Grace smiled at her daughter as she clipped the candy thermometer on the side of the pan.
"Tell me more memories," Rose said and Grace turned to her and sat down beside her at the table.

"My mother was my world," Grace said smiling, "I wish you could have known her Rosie, really known her. She loved you. She even loved burping you," she said and then giggled. "I thought it was so strange, but every time I fed you and she was around, she would ask to burp you. She said she loved to hold you up close to her; she loved the smell of you. You adored her too, you would always hold out your arms for her whenever she was around. She was a child really, until the day she died. She loved to play with us, she didn't do it because she had to; she played with us because she enjoyed it. She would skip rope, have tea parties, make mud pies, play jacks, she could do it all. I never really knew there was such a thing as the Depression until later. Yes, it hit us as much as anyone, but we never knew about it because of her." There was a long pause as she traced the outline of the table with her finger, "I miss her." She stood up and took the pan off the stove.

After the caramel apple, she got down the checkers board and they had played a game, just like they used to whenever Rose was sick or had a bad dream.
"Should I pack some things?" Grace asked as she picked up checker pieces and dropped them in a pile, listening to them smack together.
"If it would help," Rose replied.
"What about the house?"
"It'll be taken care of Mama. I promise," Rose said as they walked into the bedroom. Grace took down her suitcase from the top shelf of the closet. It was a brown suitcase, a gift from her father for the wedding. She loved the way her name was engraved on the little gold plate by the handle, "Mrs. Grace Garrett." She took out a few clothes: a pair of blue jeans, a white blouse, her best Sunday dress, and the coat with the fur-lining David had bought her for Christmas. She opened her drawers and took out a few of the rose petal sachets she had tucked away in corners along with her underclothes, and flannel nightgown.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rose asked, from the bed, “Is there anything you want to know?"
Grace's gaze fell to her engagement picture, in the pearl colored frame. Was there a woman alive who had married a more handsome man than her David?
"No darling," she said as she picked up the picture and placed it in the case. "Not just yet."

"It's different than what you think. Mama, you have no idea." Rose said from behind her as Grace opened up her jewelry box. She took out her cameo ring, the locket with the picture of her parents in it, and her mother's real string of pearls her father had brought back from France from World War I.
"It's not here," Grace said as she turned to face her daughter. "It’s not my home…and your dad isn’t there." She knelt down and took out a small chest from under her bed. She opened it and lovingly unwrapped a frilly white dress with white eyelet surrounding the bottom of the dress.
"I was so proud of this," she said as she held it up for her daughter to see. "I started making it three months before you were born."
"You were that sure I was going to be a girl?" Rose asked playfully.
Grace smiled, "Oh yes, I knew from the time I found out I was pregnant." She brushed her hands over the lace, "I can't believe you were ever this small."
She reached in the chest again and pulled out a gold plated mirror and brush. "My father gave these to my mother when they were married. I used to love watching her brush her hair--it was so soft and silky." She put the brush and mirror in the suitcase and then lovingly took out what was next in the box. It was a teddy bear, the one she had got for Christmas when she was five years old. One eye was gone, one ear was almost gone, and there were only a few tufts of fur left on him. She just looked at him for a moment and then hugged him to her. She put the bear in the suitcase and then reached down and pulled out a silky white hair ribbon.
"What's that?" Rose asked.
"I was wearing this, the first time I kissed your father," she said as she placed the ribbon against her cheek.

Grace went to bed an hour later, but she couldn't sleep. She stretched her toes to the edge of the sheets and felt the coolness tucked away in the corners. In seven years she had never gotten used to sleeping without David. She brushed her hand over his side of the bed and then curled up in a ball as she waited for morning.
She dreamed of him, dreamed of his hands felt when he caressed her cheek. She dreamed of kissing him for the first time, with the white ribbon tying back her black curls. She dreamed of her walking down the aisle towards him and placing their baby girl in his arms for the first time.
She dreamed of her mother, the way her hair felt against her cheek, the smell of her perfume. She dreamed of sitting on the yellow linoleum floor and building castles out of canning jars while listening to her mother hum while she did the dishes.
She dreamed of her father, dreamed of being tossed up in the air and then being caught again. She dreamed of the way he smelled of fresh dirt when he came in from working in the garden on Saturday mornings and of the gold foil wrapped caramels he pulled out of his jacket pocket for her every day when he came home from work at the shoe factory.
She dreamed of her baby, dreamed of lovely nights rocking back and forth in the chair, feeling the warm little body snuggled up against hers. She dreamed of braiding long dark hair, of Christmas morning, and long summers of hearing her girl laugh with delight as she ran through the sprinkler.

"Mama," she heard her daughter's voice and felt her gently kiss her cheek. She blinked and looked up at her.
"It's time to go," she said and Grace sighed as she got out of bed.
"I should change," she said quietly.
"If it will help," Rose replied and Grace went into her closet and pulled out a violet colored dress. "I'll just be a minute," she said as she slipped into the bathroom.
"Rosie," she asked when she was in the bathroom, "Will it take long...to get there I mean?"
"No Mama," she replied. "Not long at all."
She came out of the bathroom, her hair pulled up in a bun, her dressed neatly pressed. "How do I look?" she asked.
"Beautiful," Rose said smiling. "You look beautiful."
She picked up the suitcase and clenched her fingers around the handle. "Let's go," she said, trying to smile.
She walked once around the house, fingering every precious memento as if she was committing it to memory. She brushed her hands over the oven dials, across the dark green spice rack that held 28 genuine Schilling spices. She came into the living room, brushed her hands across the piano, fingering the brackets underneath the mantle piece and finally she paused and put a hand on the wedding picture that rested on the mantle.
"It's time to go Mama," Rose said from behind her and reaching out, put an arm around her as they walked out the door.
"Don't look back," she repeated to herself. She looked ahead to the pink and purple dawn ahead of her. She stopped, drawing in a sharp breath.
"I'm afraid," she breathed.
"I know Mama," her daughter said. "I was too."

She drew back from her and sat down on the stairs. "I can't go, not yet. Do we still have time?"
"Yes Mama, we have all the time you need. It's already happened," Rose said sitting down next to her.
"What? When?"
"In your sleep," her daughter replied.
Grace stood up, marveling, "I didn't feel a thing," she said and turned towards her daughter, still so beautiful with her radiant smile, and thick dark curls. She looked no different than that night she had kissed her parents goodbye, rushing off to the high school basketball game promising to wake them when she got home and tell them everything...only she never did.
"I didn't either Mama," she said smiling and Grace crossed over to her, tears stinging in her eyes. She was amazed to discover she could still cry. "Oh Rosie...really?"
Rose nodded, "I never felt any pain."
Grace remembered back to that night, that awful long night when at four in the morning David had finally gone looking for her. She had paced the floors, whispering prayers to God over and over again.
"When you died," she said, looking up at her daughter. "I felt as though I died along side with you. I was so angry at God, angry at him for taking you away."
"He knew, and he understood," Rose said.
She remembered back to when she had stood by the coffin, covered with roses. It had been a cow, a cow in the road they said. They had found the car miles off the road. She had hated that cow, hated Bobby Shore the tall forward that had asked Rose to come to the game, she hated God and most of all she hated herself for letting her go.

It had been torture. After Rosie’s death, she would wake up every morning and suddenly the bitter truth descended on her like a thick mud. At night she would wake up and walk into her daughter's room, lying on her bed and sobbing out her broken heart.
"Every day, every moment that you weren't there, I died a little more," she said, looking up at her daughter.
"I know," her daughter replied. "I felt it."
The first time had been a month after the accident. It had been a particularly bad day, David had taken his first business trip since the accident, and she knew he needed some time alone with his grief, time when he wasn't trying to take care of her. She had tried to be cheerful, had gone to see the new Debbie Reynolds movie at the theater, but when she had come home to an empty house, she closed that door and fell on the floor her body shaking with racking sobs. When there were no more tears left to cry, she lay there on the cold wooden floor until she heard a sound—it was the sound of checkers hitting each other. She stood up and went into the living room and then gave a cry of joy and surprise as she saw her daughter sitting there smiling. She had asked no questions, she had never asked any questions. At first she thought she was dreaming, but it happened more and more. Over the next thirty years she came whenever she was needed. At first David had thought she was crazy, had even told her to see a psychiatrist until one night when they were out among the rose bushes and Rosie came to them. He cried like a baby and Rosie told him the same thing that she told her mother the first time she appeared to her. She was safe, she was happy, and she was always with them.

"Why did you come back?" Grace asked. "You were my angel in life and death. Why?"
"Because He wanted me to."
"God?"
"Yes," her daughter replied reverently.
"But why?"
"Because He loves us."
Grace looked up at the sky, the air becoming sweeter and clouds becoming whiter. "So, what's it like?" she asked, feeling like a little girl again.
"Beyond your imagination. The deepest joy you've could ever feel." She held out her hand. "Come on, Mama let's go home. He wants to see you. He's excited to see you"
She reached up and took her child's hand. "I'm still afraid," she whispered. Her daughter squeezed her hand, "I know...but wherever there is beauty, the darkness has no power."
Grace brought her hand to her mouth, "She...she's there?"
Rose smiled, "Who do you think came to get me?"
"Then," her voice caught in her throat, "You weren't alone?"
"Never."

Grace turned and looked down the lane towards the nursing home. "Rosie, how long...how long will it be until its his time? It won't be home without him."
Her daughter simply smiled as a sound suddenly filled the air. It was quiet at first, like the softest breeze and then it seemed to fill the sky. It filled her with inexpressible joy for it was the voice of her love
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I'm found, twas blind but now I see."
She stared at her daughter in disbelief and Rose threw back her head and laughed, a joyful laugh that seemed to fill the sky as well. "What do you think I was doing when he and I were alone?" she said and then suddenly it seemed as though the sun split through the sky and a glorious bright light opened up in front of them.
Her daughter took her hand again, "Come on Mama, let's go home."
She took a step towards the light and then stopped, "Darling, when I get over there, do you think...could I be an angel too? Go back to Miriam and help her through this? Just like you did with me?"
"That's what we do," she said smiling and together mother and daughter stepped into the light.

They found her the next night, lying peacefully in her bed. The police came to the house after repeated telephone calls from the nursing home. They said it was a heart attack, but they were never really sure. The nursing home interns gossiped in the cafeteria for months about how romantic it was that David and Grace had passed away on the same night. They were buried in Delford Cemetery, and the 13 year old Sunday School class on youth group night dug up the Heaven's Glory rosebushes and transplanted them around the headstone that read, "David Allan Garrett and Grace Ann Walker Garrett, together eternally." When they were done, one girl clipped off a soft velvet white rose and placed it on the grave next to them. "Rose Elizabeth Garrett," it read, "Our Angel in Heaven."

Miriam Cummings lived eight more years at the home on Jackson Street in Barrington, Oklahoma. The first few days she had been miserable, only sitting at the window and rocking back and forth singing, "Tenderly Jesus is Calling" during the day and crying for her home at night. Soon after that though, she changed and became a completely different person. Her countenance was always bright, she spent her days with the convalescents, reading to them or playing games with them. The home truly became home to those who knew her, for she learned after a while that her home wasn't just a town across the country, but a part of her that she could share with others. The nurses never knew what caused the change, or why some days she seemed happier than others. But they used to say that sometimes, in the evening when they came to turn down the bed, they could smell the faintest scent of roses hanging in the air

Magic (Story)

“The year we stayed home,” I answered, hoping to catch the attention of my children. We were all sitting in the living room of my parent’s home, my sisters Kathy and Annika, and my brother Peter. We had all come home for summer vacation to spend it with my parents. The adults were gathered in the living room, while the children—at least mine, were in a world of their own. I had just been asked what my favorite summer vacation was as a child.
“You stayed home for your summer vacation?” my twelve year old daughter Jessie looked up from her magazine, chewing a Twizzler. “What’s the fun in that?”
“As I recall,” Mom said, winking at Jess and pointing her thumb at me, “She thought the same thing.”
I smiled at Jessie, and then looked down the hall at my ten year old son Jordan who was completely engrossed in his game boy. I wanted so much for them get a sense of the magic I had as a child.

“Yes, I objected at first,” I said, “But it was the best vacation I ever had. Dad took a week off from work and we spent a week at home.”
“What did you do?” Jessie asked.
“The first night,” I said, “Dad and Mom handed us sheets and told us we could make tents anywhere in the basement we wanted and could sleep there.”
“Monday was outdoors day,” Kathy said, “We went swimming at the recreation center, hiking, and roller skating that night.”
I chuckled as I heard the Game Boy music suddenly stop. We had someone else’s attention.
“Tuesday was culture day,” I went on, “We went to the museum, the zoo and then the planetarium.
“Wednesday was my favorite,” Peter said, “We made homemade ice cream that night and the girls had a pie baking contest,” he looked over at Annika and smiled at the pleasant memory, “That was the raspberry crumble pies to end all raspberry crumble pies.”
“What did you do on Thursday?” came my son’s voice from around the corner, “Not that I’m interested.”
“Thursday was movie night,” I answered. “And the best part of all was the popcorn snow. We all went down in the basement and laid out sheets. Then we took the top off the popcorn popper and watched the popcorn fly out.”
“No way!” Jordy said, “That’s awesome!”

The children listened to Friday and Saturday’s activities and I was delighted that after that, they stayed and listened to the other “favorites.” Watching their faces filled me again with the magic that had once been mine. When I tucked Jordy in that night, he asked, “Mom, next year, could we maybe try the home vacation?”
“Sure Kid,” I said kissing him on the forehead. I walked outside and saw Mom sitting by the door.
“It’s your turn,” she said with shining eyes. “The magic never has to end.”
I turned towards my sleeping children and smiled. She was exactly right.