Daffodils

I pass this house at least once a week, usually on the way to take my girls to piano lessons. Some months back, a truck lost control coming down the hill, flipped, and landed on the woman who lived there. She was outside, perhaps working in her yard. People stopped, worked at lifting the truck, and to help the driver. Even the woman’s husband had no idea he was helping to lift the truck from his wife’s body. I never knew this woman or her husband, but I cannot drive past the house without feeling a sense of loss and a lingering sadness. She was only in her early 60’s I believe, and I think of her husband, alone now. Her grown children left without their mother or a grandmother for their little ones. Today the driveway was full of cars, and I felt less sad for the man left to mourn his wife. It was as if it confirmed that with his friends and family  supporting him, I shouldn’t feel that sadness anymore. Then, as I turn the corner, I see the daffodils blooming in her yard, imagine her planting the bulbs in the fall, and become sad again that she never got to see spring.