Pillow soaked with tears of remembrance, the sun’s rays skip upon the dresser like flat rocks across still lakes, from his picture to his watch that stopped ticking soon after his departure. She rolls over, only to have her eyes meet...the closet, his clothes still neatly hung, shirts to the left, jackets to the right and pants in the middle. Shined shoes now dusty from time; the closet now blurred by her tears of remembrance. She listens, a slight moan from the baby monitor let’s her know that Junior is ready to be fed, slowly she rises, all the while thinking of how much Junior looks like his Daddy, more tears of remembrance begin to flow, she reaches for the remote and her bath robe simultaneously, how odd President Bush is on the news this morning, she looks at him without listening and then slowly turns towards her bedroom dresser. On top of it lay the neatly folded American flag presented to her at her husbands funeral….a soldier…killed in Iraq. She turns towards the television once more. Mr. Bush is smiling….her tears of remembrance continue to flow.
