Miriam sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapping her robe around her tightly. She looked over at her underwear drawer and rocked back and forth.
"Ah, John, John. I don't think I can do it this year. I don't know if I can."
Hanging from the drawer was one of those open-cup bras he'd liked so much. Silly, impractical -- scratchy -- things. But John had thought them so sexy, had thought her so sexy. So she'd worn them each year on their anniversary.
Even in the years after he was gone.
Her vision blurred as she reached out and pulled the thing to her, turning it over, sticking her fingers through the opening.
"I'm sorry John. I'm sorry. I don't have what it takes anymore."
Miriam held up a breast form. No, it wasn't going to work.
She laughed suddenly, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Can you imagine what the kids would think if this fell into the soup over dinner?"
Miriam put down the form and rubbed the scar where her right breast had been. He'd still love her, she knew that, even though she only had one now.
She laughed again, the tears spilling over. Of course he would. He'd just lavish twice the attention on the remaining one. Silly man. She looked again at the bra, turning it around in her hands.
Miriam stood, slipped her arms through the bra straps and fastened it in front. She adjusted it as best she could and looked down.
"I'm lopsided, John. More than usual. The kids will know what I'm wearing. They'll be horrified, I know it. Well, let them."
Miriam slowly finished dressing and made her way, head held high and back straight, down to where her children and grandchildren waited to take her out to dinner.