Sixty-three
I’m only a few miles out from the cemetery and it begins to rain. The day is gloomy, so this isn’t quite a surprise, but I question myself and why I hadn’t thought to check the weather before I left the house. I glance over to the floor of the passenger side of the car and notice an umbrella slightly peeking out from underneath the seat. I feel relief. I know there will be some waterworks when I get to Mommom’s grave— it would’ve been her 96th birthday today—and I don’t need