My Dear, Sweet Sarah,

I remember the day you said goodbye.
With a final pause in the doorway,
you turned to me and smiled.

We both ignored the tears that filled your eyes.

“I’ll see you when I get back from Scotland.”
At this point, we knew it was a lie.
But sometimes lies taste better than
the truth, so we let the sweet promise
of tomorrow fill the room.

Countless times I held my daughter’s hand
while she wept. You boarded planes bound
for places I’d only meet by postcard while
we returned to defrosting peas alone.

But at this last goodbye, she did not weep.
Eventually, tears become too gentle
a language for the blade of grief
that rips your soul in two.

So don’t cry for me; no salt-stained
sheets will cure your hurt.
Instead, whenever you hold a lily,
let the sweet scent remind you

there is always
the promise of tomorrow.

Yours for eternity,
Elle