Page 53 of Bridge to Home

Thankfully, it wasn’t far. Her mother’s granite headstone, with a bouquet of daisies on each side, appeared. As she drew closer, Harlow could see they were fresh, as if someone had placed the beautiful, vibrant bouquets there only moments ago.

Harlow locked the wheelchair’s wheels and slid to the ground. Not trusting her legs, she half-dragged, half-pulled herself along until reaching the headstone. She ran her fingertips over her mother’s inscription,Gwendolyn “Ginger” Wynn, beloved wife and mother.

A lone tear trailed down Harlow’s cheek. “Hey, Mom. I…I’m sorry I haven’t been by sooner. It’s been a rough…a tough few years. But guess what? Dad and I are talking again. He’s…he’s been helping me since my accident.”

Harlow poured out her heart to her mother, confiding some of her deepest, darkest fears—about the future, her marriage, the direction of her life.

She caught a whiff of a floral scent, the fragrant aroma of gardenias, her mother’s favorite flower.

The hair on Harlow’s arms prickled. She sensed her mother’s presence as close as the gardenias, could feel her mother’s love envelope her and a calming peace washed over her.

Ginger was telling Harlow it would be all right. No matter what happened, she would be okay. And her daughter was exactly where she needed to be.

A long shadow fell across her mother’s grave. A warm hand touched her shoulder. “Birdie came by the house. I guess you two missed each other.”

Harlow nodded. “I…thought. I thought it was time to see Mom,” she whispered in a ragged voice. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked, her heart aching over the loss of her mother. “I miss her so much,” she whispered.

“I know you do. And I’m sure she misses you.” David eased in next to her, sharing snippets and stories about Harlow growing up. The time she’d stuck her tongue on the metal flagpole in the dead of winter during recess.

The time she sneaked downstairs on Christmas Eve and knocked the Christmas tree over, getting trapped behind it. The more her father shared, the less Harlow’s heart ached. Her tears stopped. She drew in a shaky breath and offered him a watery smile. “Thanks Dad. I feel much better.”

“So do I. Memory Lane is sometimes a rocky road.” He slowly stood. “We’re going to be okay, Harlow. I take that back. We’re going to be more than okay. By the time this is all over, we’ll be better than ever.”

“I hope so.”

“Iknowso.” Harlow’s father gently scooped his daughter up and placed her in the wheelchair. “Let’s go home.”

The end.

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