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| Ovarian Cancer; Hope; Blessing |
Stepping out of her car, Coco felt the cold wind cascading down the meadow and chilling her face. A somewhat serene backdrop, but lifeless. Spring had yet to break through the gray landscape. There in the distance, was the small country church where her friend had been raised--and where she would take her final resting place in the centuries-old cemetery. Row upon row of faded stones, gray and black, inscribed with birthdates, death dates, and various words that hinted at stories of once vibrant lives.
A smattering of people dressed in dark clothing had gathered to celebrate her friend Marcia. Their hushed voices were barely audible. The incessant wispy breeze whistled through the stagnant bare branches. Would spring ever come?
