Jax Beach - July 2008• • •
One morning, when the air was misleading and mild with hope, I saw my mother standing beside the forsythia. The blossoms had just begun to open, and were now as much yellow as they were green. The branches tumbled into the yard, heavy with the weight of flowers and leaves, and there was my mother, all alone. She was smoking a cigarette, the first she'd had in years, since her cancer had first been diagnosed and treated. Her hair was dark and thick, and she hadn't bothered with a comb or a brush. She was crying out there, beside the forsythia, but even if she hadn't been, I would have known. Certain things need not be said, and there's nothing, not a whispered prayer, not a sacrifice, not a payment of any price, that will change what's about to happen.
excerpt from The Rest of Your Life by Alice Hoffman
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