The flowers are from the front yard, just outside the window that I am looking out of as I write. This is the first bush to bloom--it always is.
She would have been 57 today. I can still picture her at 47, at her last birthday, and I can imagine what she might have looked like at 70, but I just can't picture her being 57.
I went out to the cemetery yesterday and spent some time. I hadn't been there for a while--at least a year, maybe two. I thought a bit about why Arlina has been on my mind more lately. She seems to pop up in this journal fairly often. Part of it is because she has always been a part of what I have written here, from the very beginning.
She will have been gone ten years this year. I suspect there is some kind of symbolic closure in that, as there was at the one-year mark. Ten years is a long time. Most of the time it feels like another lifetime altogether. Every once in a while though, it still feels very immediate. I don't know. It feels like there is something in all this that I don't really understand. It's not a bad thing, it just feels like there is something under the surface.
The irises are in bloom at the cemetery, and they are lovely.