A year ago today, my best friend, Amy Winans, died. Today, in my grief, I have talked with people who love her. I have folded and put away piles of laundry--something I often did while on the phone with Amy. I have tried to understand again that she is gone, that if I talk to her, she won't reply.
Still, I feel her presence around me, especially in the spring flowers. Amy spent hours gardening, and her letters often arrived on notecards with delicate drawings of flowers printed on them. When I attempted to paint purple iris in watercolor, I told myself I'd send Amy a painting if it turned out well.
Today, when I didn't know what else to do, I went outside, where bunches of daffodils swayed in the wind. I cut some of them, arranged them in vases, and put them around the house. In memory of Amy, I let in spring.
