July 2nd would have bee five years since my mothers cancer diagnosis. Five years since she sat at her dining room table with the phone to her ear calling my father at work. The look on her face alone made my blood run cold. Something was wrong and she wouldn't say a word until she had more imformation. She would call me later that night and tell me the terrible news. I was sitting on my stairs, stunned silent by the news. The day before was my parents 25th wedding anniversary. This year would have made 30. Last week I went to visit my mothers grave. Leaning against the stone, over my mothers name was a single wilted red rose. I know my father had left it for her. I started crying immediatly, how that must have felt, to go to the store to by that rose for your wife so you could leave it at her grave. I hurt over the loss of my mother, I hurt all the time, but it kills me to think about how bad he must hurt. I picture him stading there with that rose, thinking about her and the years they spent together, thinking about the years they still should have had together. At my last doctors appointment I mentioned to my doctor that it was going to take a long time to get over my mothers death, he replied that it would be more then a long time, and I said, "it will be a lifetime."
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