A few days before this year’s visit, Ruth’s granddaughter, Natalie, offered to come with me.
Every year on Thomas’s birthday, I traveled to a memorial honoring those still missing from the war. I brought one white rose and an old photograph of us outside the college library.
I told him about my year.
Sometimes I scolded him.
“You promised, remember?”
Of course, he never answered.
I wish now that I’d let her come.
A few days before this year’s visit, Ruth’s granddaughter, Natalie, offered to come with me.
“I’m perfectly capable of traveling alone,” I said.
“I know. I’m offering company, not supervision.”
I nearly accepted. Then I told her I preferred the quiet.
I wish now that I’d let her come.
When I stepped into the small airport’s arrivals hall, I noticed a man standing near the only exit, holding a photograph.
The flight was uneventful. The woman beside me spent most of it showing me photographs of her son’s wedding preparations. By the time we landed, I’d seen eleven pictures of table decorations.
