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Saturday, January 29, 2011

Until We Meet Again, Marion

More than a year with you was not enough. You were having breakfast in bed while watching TV the first Saturday morning I met you. (And it would be that way in many Saturday mornings that we would share.) Your sepia tone photo as a nurse in uniform adorned your bedroom wall. The sparrows were noisily chirping while feasting on what you ordered for them in the bird feeder hanging outside your window. The view from your bed was picture perfect, as we both agreed. Potted flowering plants were on the table by the window. There was the bird feeder, the deciduous trees, the squirrels and rabbits and deer, and staff and visitors that kept the parking lot alive... And there you were with your bread and jam, sunny-side up eggs, muffin, and orange juice. And there I was for moments spent chatting about whatever was on TV or outside your window, or fussing over your plants. And as always, you'd say, "Thank you, my dear." But as your orchids wouldn't bloom, I got you purple orchids on your 88th birthday. They gladly stayed until the 20th of December--a brave witness to your last breath. I came today to wish you well and to fertilize your orchids as I promised weeks earlier. (Sadly, I was not allowed in because of the norovirus outbreak.) So the nurse found it hard to respond to my Christmas greeting and query
about your health today. "Oh, she's gone. It was time. I'm sorry..." Just like all that I loved who had gone ahead, I asked why you couldn't wait for me. Now my Saturday mornings won't be the same again. Marion, until we meet again...

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