Shifting her weight to make herself more comfortable, Sylvia grunted and settled back against Elmer’s bed. Feeling a bit of a chill she reached for the colorfully crocheted afghan draped at the foot of the bed and spread it across her lap.

She fingered the dahlia absently and smiled as she thought back to the first time she remembered Bess trying patiently to teach her to crochet a perfect granny square dahlia, just like this one. Of course, this was Bess’ work, Sylvia never could master the art.

Her attention turned back to the pile of papers that had fallen from the Bible and she hesitated before reaching toward it again. Gathering her courage about her, she raked the pile close, and started at the top.

Random lists, seemed to dominate much of the pile. Elmer had become forgetful the last few years. Days of the week, months of the year, birthdays, some even had names of his children and their spouses.

“Oh my,” Sylvia smiled, a tear slid down her cheek. Thomas in his Army greens of WW2 .