“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

As I entered the cemetery grounds, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. I walked to my mother’s grave. The grave was now well tended. The grass was beginning to grow green, and her name was beautifully engraved on the black marble headstone. I knelt beside my mother’s headstone and placed a basket of fresh, fragrant jasmine flowers, her favorite. I gently caressed my mother’s name engraved on the stone. There were no more tears of pain constricting my chest as there were a month ago, only a warm longing and deep gratitude. I began to speak as if my mother were sitting next to me. I told her about today’s meeting, about Mr.