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Mother's Day Epilogue

The kids had saved and scrimped to buy me a Mothers' Day gift of the hanging basket of flowers that I overly commented on in the Garden Shop of a local gardening and landscaping company. It didn't cost much so I raved about it to give the kids a hint as they wanted to spend their own money on my gift. Now it was time for me to hang them on the patio cover to show my appreciation and respect for their sacrifice to please me. I'm a widow with two rambunctious first graders. My husband, Phil James was killed in a tragic Interstate accident as he made his way home from a business trip. He was in a line of stopped cars when a semi-rig topped the rise behind them, hit the last car and pushed the others into Phil and a total of seven died that morning in the resulting fiery pile-up. As a thirty-year old widow, I do pretty-good. I have the income from the proceed of his company group life insurance, his personal purchase of life insurance, his social security payments until the kids reach age eighteen, and a paid-off house from the mortgage life payment that I fought as being too frivolous but Phil insisted on buying. That's one argument we had that I'm so glad I lost. I'm Teri James, the recovering widow who stands five-four if I stretch, weigh 108 if I exaggerate, and have brown hair under the bleached blonde that I'm letting go away now since Phil isn't here to caress it. Don't get your hopes up, I'm tiny everywhere so I'll disclose that my bust is 32 B and my hips are almost 32 now that I'm regaining the weight I lost while mourning Phil. ...

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