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Two days in succession I visited my mother’s grave, twenty-two miles from my home, once on the day before Mom’s birthday, with a devoted friend of hers and mine, and then today in the company of my widowed dad.
In precisely nineteen hours’ time the scene had slightly changed. Rose petals had fallen from blossoms past their prime. And three small U.S. flags had bloomed near the marker for Mother’s military service in the Second World War.
Ask me whom I suspect of planting flags to honor the dead, and I shall smile and ask you to guess instead.
♦
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