In those early months as I came to love Jim more deeply, I surveyed the many pictures of her, of Jim and her, of others who loved and befriended Sheila. It did not take long for me to consider that she was someone I might have known and befriended too. In some strange way, it was as if I picked up where she left off. She could have lived my life at one time, if not for the path she chose with Jim. I could have led her life if not for the path I took.
The red geranium that graces a brown pot on our patio once belonged to Sheila. It first came to be on Whidbey Island and sat for many years in a window where it captured the best of light that could be found from the Northwest sun. It was not often, but when the winter passed, it bloomed for a short time.
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