February 2011
Doris absentmindedly swirled the still hot soapy suds around the bowl as she gazed out of the kitchen window. She must do something about the state of the garden; since Jack had died she had tried to weed and keep it tidy but her heart wasn't in it. She emptied the bowl and surveyed the one cup and saucer, the one plate and the one knife and teaspoon. How sad, she thought, one of everything now unless the family came to call.
Tomorrow was 13th of February, the day Jack had died so suddenly. He had been sitting in his chair reading the newspaper as she was hoovering upstairs, he must have called out but she didn't hear him. She finished cleaning, came downstairs, called out 'Cup of tea Jack', put the hoover in the cupboard under the stairs and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Tea made she took the mug of tea into the lounge. He always liked a mug but she preferred her bone china Royal Albert tea cups. She put the mug on the coffee table and turned to Jack. 'Here you are, love . . . Jack . . . Jack . . . what's the matter?' Jack was slumped in the chair, the newspaper slipping from his grasp.
It was hard to remember the events of that day. She knew she had phoned her daughter Janet who came round as quickly as her eight month pregnancy would allow. Janet had taken charge, rang the appropriate people, comforted her mother and had stayed with her that night. The next day was just a blur to Doris but Janet was a rock - what would she have done without her.
Life has a funny way of panning out, the paths of us mortals, is it fate or God who decides which one it should take?
Janet gave birth to a baby boy on February 14th, the stresses and strains of her father's death brought on an early delivery, but the boy thrived and was now a strapping lad of sixteen planning to go to university if he studied hard enough.
Doris sighed, patted a wisp of her grey hair in place, put on her coat, collected her bag, making sure her keys were in it, and ventured out into a cold but sunny day. She shopped locally preferring the shops she knew so well to the big supermarket a bus ride away. Having bought pork chops and sausages in the butchers and the rest of the items on her list - yes, these days she had to write down what she wanted - the number of times she had got home and forgotten the most essential thing she had gone out for. She passed the florists and saw they had pots of primroses which had been a favourite of Jack's because of their delicate colouring. They also had other primula, so she bought one yellow and one of red.
'Hello, gran, what are you up to?' it was her grandson smiling down at her. 'Are you taking them to grandpa's grave tomorrow? I'll come with you as it's a study day; no school.'
'Oh, that will be nice. I'd love you to come with me, although you didn't know your granddad, I know he'll be looking down and he would be so proud of you.'
At the cemetery the next day Doris let her grandson dig in the flowers on her husband's grave. After a few moments of silence her grandson said, 'I'll come back with you and help you with the garden, I know how much it means to you.'
'Valentine, you truly are a saint!' said Doris.