He'd had the marker replaced a few years before with smooth white granite. She'd
have considered that a foolish expense, but he'd needed to do something.
It held her name. Susan Lee Hawke. And the span of her life, that short forty-six
years. Beneath, in script, was the line he'd paraphrased from Emily Dickinson.
Hope perches in the soul
She'd never lost hope. She'd lived her life believing in the power of hope, and
faith, leavened with good, hard work. Even when the sickness had eaten away her
beauty, had whittled her down to brittle bones she'd had hope.
For him, Jordan thought now. She'd had hope for him, believed in him, and had
loved him without qualification.
He crouched down to lay the flowers on her grave.
"I miss you, Mom. I miss talking to you, and hearing you laugh. I miss seeing that
look in your eye that told me I was in trouble. And even when I was, you were
there for me. You were always there for me."
Key of Knowledge
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By Lupus in Saxonia - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=50750390
Remember that mother-child relationships are complicated—and any way you feel about the day is totally appropriate
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He closed his eyes a moment. "It hurts to be here. I guess it's supposed to." He
touched his fingers to his lips, then pressed his fingers to the stone. "I love you. I'll
come back."
Key of Knowledge