There is an easy breeze that moves the leaves and scatters small white buds across the ground from a nearby crepe myrtle. The trees shouldn’t be in bloom. It is All Saint’s Day and November has brought in breath that fogs in air and the slight hint of flurries on the wind. Still, for my mother, the flowers bloom, the trees are bright with green leaves and the crepe myrtle showers her with white flowers like fairy dust. It is the first time I have seen her marker. She lies next to her parents, they, next to theirs; all were fiercely proud of their heritage but felt that Cavanagh was home. They didn’t need burying in Ireland to remind them of who they were. My injuries had been too severe to attend her funeral and until today, I hadn’t managed to visit her grave. Had it not been for Ava calling to tell me the headstone had been laid, I would have ignored All Saint's Day completely. But I did not need Ava to join me. She would have cried, would have expected me to do the same and then there would have been too much wine, too many reminisces about the past. My first thought was self-preservation, to avoid all of that completely, so I called Joe.
What do You think about Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity)?
