100 Years Project Anthology

how strong his flame of determination burned.
As usual, I return to bed, and the next day begins. I wake up, eat,
and occupy myself in my room and on the balcony. I then assist my
mother and go upstairs to my bed and back to the balcony. I reach
my canopy, and try to connect with him, but - there’s something
wrong. I can’t feel him there. It’s like my mind reaches out and
grabs at – nothing.
Options spring to my mind like daffodils in the spring – could
he be returning? Or was it – I didn’t dare. He was coming back, I
hoped he was. Death couldn’t get my father. Only life could. Hope.
And it was sheer hope that ran through me as I fell asleep.
As usual.