Florence's Final Journey22

But she still loved the images in her mind of the happy times when
she had been held by the strong arms of her own snoring man, dreaming
of probably some missed glory, next to her in bed. It had taken her years
to fully accept crawling into bed alone. Every so often, the loneliness
would enshroud her like a suffocating, invisible fog.
On those nights, she wasn’t alone, her tears and happy memories
cuddled with her and got her through the night. And she would always
gallantly fight through it. For she had flowers to water, smiles to give out
and dreamed of watching the roses bloom and grin at her.
“What a nice neighborhood,” visitors would often say but nobody
gave her credit for the fragrance of the flowers and the clean walkways. A
young mother who pushed her stroller by on many a day would
sometimes give her a casual wave. A group of rowdy young boys running
2