Daisies and Daffodils

Starsky went back every year. Terri was the only non-Jewish woman he could have thought of marrying; even his mother thought that this 'shiksa' was right for him. He never put a stone on her grave - it didn't feel right; not for her. He put a stone on his father's grave (or at least his mom did it for him most years) but somehow his roots and traditions pulled at him and so no stone for Terri.
Each year when he arrived he stood by the grave in silence and waiting with bated breath for the moment when she would re-appear in his mind's eye. He knew that one year would come when he would no longer be able to conjure up her face in all its detail. When he too would have changed with age...and Terry would be ageless as the dead always are to those who are left behind.

Every year Hutch came with him. The tall blond would stand back and wait; watching his friend walk straight backed and head held high to the mound of grass and the simple memorial and Hutch would watch as Starsky's posture transformed with the weight of all his grief. His shoulders sagged forward and his head dropped and Hutch knew that the tears were flowing down his face.
Hutch knew that Starsky's deep blue eyes would be red-rimmed when he returned to the car.
He knew, and he could do nothing.

Starsky always took the same offering.
He had brought her red roses when he asked her to marry him.
If ever Starsky came to her grave at another time of the year; he put a bunch of red roses in the stone vase that he had bought and installed himself - taking the time to choose exactly the right shape; and then crouching by the graveside working with a trowel and cement to create a holder for it - a socket that would hold it upright come rain or come shine.
He would empty the dead flowers and replace the water from an old mineral water bottle that he brought with him; then he would put the roses in the vase and walk away.

That was if he came at other times of the year.

But each year; on the day she died; Starsky came to Terry with his offering of love.
Each year, Hutch stood back and watched his friend clean out the vase and replace the dead roses with a huge bunch of giant white daisies.
And then Hutch watched as Starsky sat on a nearby bench and wept.
Hutch always gave Starsky a few minutes to express his desperate, eternal grief. Then he would go up to Starsky and put a hand on his friend's solid shoulders.
Every year, Starsky would give Hutch the same red-blue stare and walk back to the car.
Every year, Hutch would lay a bunch of daffodils on the grave.

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