Growing Gracefully- Good-bye (7/7)
Title: Growing Gracefully
Pairings: USUK
Rating: T
Warnings: Mentions of sexual situations and an OC
Summary: Alfred and Arthur tackle parenthood, and so much more. (Hospital Flowers sequel.)
This chapter: The end.
I sighed into the bed sheets as they enveloped me in a mixture of soft warmth and Alfred's strong arms. He pressed me flush to his chest as he always did when we kissed. We were in no hurry this morning. There was no one to see, no one to talk to, no one to please but ourselves. After two years of our relationship healing, I think we deserved a quiet day in.
It took us almost three months to arrange our wedding. Mum flew in and stayed in our room the two weeks we were away on our long overdue honeymoon. There were press, of course, and they covered the entirety of our wedding. Not surprisingly, my white tuxedo and Alfred's traditional black made headlines. I had many offers from some television stations to broadcast our wedding, of which I turned them all down. Amidst all of this turmoil, however, Grace took the center stage.
She had blossomed into a fully independent woman seemingly overnight as she worked to plan our wedding. Her dress was gorgeous, and I realized that she was no longer four years old. She was a real young lady. Mum took her out to get a perm and a make-over, so that when it was time for the actual wedding, Grace looked like a beautiful princess.
When I stopped staring at my daughter, I was admiring my "new" husband. Alfred aged well, and I thought him more handsome than ever. When we were young,- he was vibrant and full of vigor, but then again, so was I. Now, especially after our separation, he had calmed down to a much more mature man.
That's not to say he isn't still obnoxious or loud, because he is, but I just don't see it as often. Of course, that could mean I've gotten used to his American antics. I've lived in America for over twenty years now, so there is a chance I've become fully integrated into American society. The horror.
I sighed once more as Alfred ran a hand down my spine. My fingers kneaded against his chest, reminding me that while he no longer had the defined muscles of a twenty year old, he was still very much in shape for a middle-aged man.
"Darling," I whispered when Alfred moved his lips to my neck. I shivered at his touch, still very much affected by our intimacy. "I fear I will always love you."
"Even when I'm old and wrinkly?" Alfred asked. His breath was hot against my skin.
"Yes," I replied.
"But what if your eyebrows grow so thick you can't see me anymore?"
"Oi!" I smacked Alfred's ass. "That's too far!"
Alfred laughed in my ear. He tangled our legs together and shifted up to my eye level. It was a true blessing that after our separation Alfred's blue eyes had returned to their bright color from before. I worried I had sucked it all away from him. The man was more resilient than I. Alfred noted that my eyes looked slightly different, and that the way I carried myself was in a much more reserved way than before. I didn't notice the change, but Alfred did. Often I would catch him watching me with an almost guilty look to his face.
"I'd still love you if your eyebrows really got that bad," he teased. I pinched his butt cheek in reply. "Violence on our first day of being empty nesters? Tsk tsk, Arthur."
It was strange to know that such an important person in our lives who had lived with us all of her life was now living on her own in the world. While I was living in a hotel for six months, Grace had decided she would become serious about her applications into college. Her involvement with the GSA club gave her more than enough community service, and combined with her already high grades, she was able to choose from numerous universities. In the end she chose Berkeley as it offered both art and theater for her dancing, and humanities. She wasn't out to save the world, but she wanted to do some good, saying "if both of my dads can do it, then so can I."
It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since she had moved out. Alfred and I took time off from work to take a final trip to Disneyland with Grace, and then we made the 400 mile drive from L.A. up north to the Bay Area. We stayed the weekend in San Francisco, buying our daughter things for her dorm, new clothes, and an exquisite dinner her last night with us. We parted ways with her in the morning after a small breakfast. I was hardly able to eat considering I was crying the majority of the meal. Alfred was a great comfort, but I knew he was sad to see Grace spread her wings. It was bittersweet to be a parent sometimes.
"Papa," Grace had said as she hugged me tight. "I'll make you proud."
"Oh, poppet, you have every day since you were born, and you will every day after." I kissed her cheeks fondly. By now, she had started crying too.
How she had grown; my baby that once danced to Dora the Explorer and baked cookies with me was now a woman that was starting her independent life. She had developed into an attractive young lady, but she was not one to flaunt it. I had instilled good manners into her. That, and Alfred was a protective father. After Grace's first boyfriend, Adam, had met him, word got out that Grace's firefighting father threatened with an axe. They weren't completely off base, either.
Alfred was upset after Grace's leaving, but he didn't want to upset me any further. He worked to distract us. During the drive home we listened to old classics and sang along. We stopped often to eat and stretch our legs. Upon returning home, Alfred stripped me nude and made love to me. The sounds of our sex filled the entirety of the apartment. We had been unable to have such loud sex in years.
I could see the benefits of being an empty nester now.
I knew that by morning, Alfred wouldn't let me get dressed. So far, I'd been right. It was half-past noon and we'd already shagged twice. I swear, Alfred managed to make me feel young again every time he put his hands on me.
"I miss Grace," I mumbled.
Alfred pouted. "I'm not enough for you?"
"You provide love in a different way than her. I just hope she's doing all right. I worry…"
"Babe, she's fine." Alfred gave me a chaste kiss to my cheek. "She's in Berkeley and has two dads. She'll be the hit of the campus."
I chuckled. "Yes… I wonder how I'll finish my novel now."
"Your novel?"
I nodded. "Ever since Grace was born I've been working on it. Every chapter records an important event in her life, although the last chapters were more about us than her, but…"
Alfred propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at me. He didn't seem pleased by this news. "Wait, you're gonna release this book as in…everyone will read that we separated?"
"Well, that's just one part, darling." Alfred frowned more. "It doesn't matter anymore. We're married."
"It does matter, Arthur," Alfred said seriously. "It matters because that was a painful and personal time in our life. I don't want people knowing about that. I thought you liked privacy."
It was true. I was a very secretive man, but in all the years I had grown accustomed to talking in front of crowds about my love life. I guess part of that had chipped away. It was too invasive. When I had written Hospital Flowers I made sure to not include the hard months where Alfred and I fought. Even writing about Matthew's death seemed too much, but Nancy and Alfred agreed it was crucial to explain the way our relationship formed.
At length, I said gently, "I understand. Then, I'll keep it for us. No one will you see it but you, all right?"
That lifted Alfred's spirits, and he smiled again. He lay down next to me and pulled me for a kiss. Then, he moved to peck my temple. He kept his mouth close to my ear as he whispered, "I love you. If there is a heaven, I want to find you. I want to spend eternity with you. A lifetime isn't enough."
I closed my eyes, knowing he would always be my beloved. Our family had grown gracefully and our bonds were tested in ways they should never have been, but we were still there. Still bare and close and promising romantic futures as we had when we were young.
I'll say this one final time: I love Alfred Kirkland-Jones.
The first thing I remember in my life is seeing my parents happy and in love. They danced in the kitchen in the evenings and kissed before breakfast every morning. They held hands and communicated without words. In turn, they lavished this love and care onto me, and I felt safe when both of my dads were around. I wanted a love like that, and to be as happy as them.
When people learn I have two fathers, they think I can't comprehend "true love" or that I will never grasp the concept of a "family". Why does family have to be defined by marriage? What about single families or families that, like mine, are unable to marry until further on? Just because I was "devoid" of a female figure in my childhood didn't equate to me "losing out" on anything.
If we're to look at the basic things a family should have then I had a home, loving parents, food in my belly every night, security, and a good education. All other details are subject to individual's own different experiences, mine included.
Media often romanticizes or whore-ifies homosexual relationships, but they forget the key ingredient: people. Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, asxeuals, pansexuals, transgenders/transsexuals, and all those in-between are still people. They still suffer heartbreak and experience joy and want happiness in their life. Being heterosexual didn't mean they were the only humans to have such feelings. I should know as I am heterosexual.
My dads didn't raise me to "fear" women or not "love" them like I would a man, nor did they push for me to be attracted to them either. In reality, my parents didn't talk about relationships in front of me, theirs especially. They encouraged my admiration of princesses, my fascination with other cultures, my love of dancing, and to be a nice and open person. Rather than tell me what I should like, they let me choose.
It's a shame so many people in this world hated my parents, especially my father, Arthur. They believe he poisoned me and other people with his liberal ideas, when in actuality my father was quite traditional and conservative. He believed in the nuclear family ideal and the close-knit love between neighbors and friends and family. And to hate my dad is just laughable given how many lives he's saved over the course of his career.
So how is it wrong of me to look up to and admire such honorable men?
I found this story my father had written of their marriage and my life when I was sorting through my father's files on his laptop. He needed a new computer, but didn't know how to transfer the files. I knew he'd be upset if I found the story, so I kept a file for myself to read later. Occasionally I would check to see if he wrote anymore, but he never did. It seemed he lost steam once my dad expressed he didn't want it published.
When my parents separated I knew very little of what had actually happened. Granted, my dad told me his fears before he was found out by my father, but that was only his side. I never knew how much pain they were in, and how much of it my father shouldered.
My father was not an open man, even to me. He was an expert at telling stories, and that trend continued into his speeches. They were always vague accounts of our family, enough to satisfy a person, but not enough to make them know anything important. Often I would hear him complaining while at dinner about how personal some interviews were. So it wasn't a surprise to me when I read he knew my dad was hiding something, but said nothing. I guess that's why my parents worked so well together.
My dad, Alfred, always seemed so outgoing and talkative, but no one really listened to him. If they did, then they'd realize he never said anything about how he felt. It was more often than not about something casual. Like my father, he was a pro at hiding away.
When my father left, my dad broke down. He showed me all he had kept locked away. He was angry, hurt, scared, and heavy with guilt and regret. Even I had never seen my dad change from "daddy" to a human being. Every child has to see it at some point; that moment when their parents are suddenly vulnerable and bleed emotions. Being that I stayed with my dad during this ordeal, it was so much easier to see and empathize with his side. I became his best friend then. We were each other's confidences while we cried in shame and longing for my father to come home.
It was so easy to write my father off as some kind of emotionless whore the media loves to quickly label, but the issue wasn't so black and white. I knew he was hurt and that he hadn't cheated, but I didn't know the rest. And, it seems, my father didn't want to put all of that into his story either.
He left out how crude he had become to me and my dad. When he realized something was up, he started demanding things from my dad. He was bitter and cold, even when I knew my dad had made attempts to be warm to him. Then he started shutting me out, but I suppose I deserved that. I hadn't been the nicest to him either.
High school wasn't where my woes with bullies began, but it was where I broke, like my dad. I was done fighting, so I gave them what they wanted. I shoved my family away so I would be "normal". I said such horrible things about my parents behind their back, and it bled into my home life. Eventually, my dad's suspicions about my father affected my feelings for him, and most of my hatred for my social life was condensed all into blind loathing of my father. He didn't deserve that.
I had given up. I had to be better than who I was. My parents fought for each other and managed to renew their love. Through their strength and determination I was able to get back up and come out stronger. I knew I was better than those bullies.
If I hadn't been, I don't think my situation would have ever improved. I doubt my parents would have come back together if I hadn't been involved in the repairing process. Without everyone supporting each other, love would never have found its way back home.
My parents passed away only two months apart from each other. My father had been sick for months, and we all thought he'd be the first to go, however it was my dad who died first. I think the shock was what finished my father. They had been together for more than fifty years, and married for forty-eight. He couldn't imagine living without his husband for too long. But it was a good life. They were both in their late eighties, my father nearly ninety, and were able to see their grandchildren.
I raised my boys to know their grandparents. There was no shame that they had three grandfathers, two on my side and one from their father's. And the boys loved them. I still smile thinking about when they were young and how they'd ask if we'd drive down to Southern California to see them sometime. Towards the end of their life, I had moved my parents up from L.A. to live with me and my family in San Francisco. I think the sea air helped in some ways. I know they had many fond memories of this city.
My dad didn't want this public because he didn't want people to see they had separated, but I wish they had. I didn't want people to think my family was perfect. We had problems too. We were "normal", but we were different, and that can be a good thing. I wanted people to see what they had sacrificed to be together. Maybe then they can finally understand that through one crazy American and one stuffy Englishman that I learned what true love is from their raising me to know the difference between the UK and England, to them throwing me a quinceanera, to understanding true joys of American baseball.
It's not just one way, but in a multitude of ways. It comes from loving your daughter or son, from loving your parents, from loving your neighbors and friends, and from loving your spouse, whomever they happen to be.
We Jones' stick together. I might have a different surname now, but I will always be a Kirkland-Jones. I am proud of my dads for who they were and who they always will be in my heart.Hoshiko2's cents: I hope you enjoyed this sequel to Hospital Flowers. I had this story in mind for months, and the end was especially hard for me. I knew I had to have the story published, obviously, but how. To have Grace in the end came to me in a burst of inspiration. Thank you for everything, and see you at the next story.
Pairings: USUK
Rating: T
Warnings: Mentions of sexual situations and an OC
Summary: Alfred and Arthur tackle parenthood, and so much more. (Hospital Flowers sequel.)
This chapter: The end.
I sighed into the bed sheets as they enveloped me in a mixture of soft warmth and Alfred's strong arms. He pressed me flush to his chest as he always did when we kissed. We were in no hurry this morning. There was no one to see, no one to talk to, no one to please but ourselves. After two years of our relationship healing, I think we deserved a quiet day in.
It took us almost three months to arrange our wedding. Mum flew in and stayed in our room the two weeks we were away on our long overdue honeymoon. There were press, of course, and they covered the entirety of our wedding. Not surprisingly, my white tuxedo and Alfred's traditional black made headlines. I had many offers from some television stations to broadcast our wedding, of which I turned them all down. Amidst all of this turmoil, however, Grace took the center stage.
She had blossomed into a fully independent woman seemingly overnight as she worked to plan our wedding. Her dress was gorgeous, and I realized that she was no longer four years old. She was a real young lady. Mum took her out to get a perm and a make-over, so that when it was time for the actual wedding, Grace looked like a beautiful princess.
When I stopped staring at my daughter, I was admiring my "new" husband. Alfred aged well, and I thought him more handsome than ever. When we were young,- he was vibrant and full of vigor, but then again, so was I. Now, especially after our separation, he had calmed down to a much more mature man.
That's not to say he isn't still obnoxious or loud, because he is, but I just don't see it as often. Of course, that could mean I've gotten used to his American antics. I've lived in America for over twenty years now, so there is a chance I've become fully integrated into American society. The horror.
I sighed once more as Alfred ran a hand down my spine. My fingers kneaded against his chest, reminding me that while he no longer had the defined muscles of a twenty year old, he was still very much in shape for a middle-aged man.
"Darling," I whispered when Alfred moved his lips to my neck. I shivered at his touch, still very much affected by our intimacy. "I fear I will always love you."
"Even when I'm old and wrinkly?" Alfred asked. His breath was hot against my skin.
"Yes," I replied.
"But what if your eyebrows grow so thick you can't see me anymore?"
"Oi!" I smacked Alfred's ass. "That's too far!"
Alfred laughed in my ear. He tangled our legs together and shifted up to my eye level. It was a true blessing that after our separation Alfred's blue eyes had returned to their bright color from before. I worried I had sucked it all away from him. The man was more resilient than I. Alfred noted that my eyes looked slightly different, and that the way I carried myself was in a much more reserved way than before. I didn't notice the change, but Alfred did. Often I would catch him watching me with an almost guilty look to his face.
"I'd still love you if your eyebrows really got that bad," he teased. I pinched his butt cheek in reply. "Violence on our first day of being empty nesters? Tsk tsk, Arthur."
It was strange to know that such an important person in our lives who had lived with us all of her life was now living on her own in the world. While I was living in a hotel for six months, Grace had decided she would become serious about her applications into college. Her involvement with the GSA club gave her more than enough community service, and combined with her already high grades, she was able to choose from numerous universities. In the end she chose Berkeley as it offered both art and theater for her dancing, and humanities. She wasn't out to save the world, but she wanted to do some good, saying "if both of my dads can do it, then so can I."
It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since she had moved out. Alfred and I took time off from work to take a final trip to Disneyland with Grace, and then we made the 400 mile drive from L.A. up north to the Bay Area. We stayed the weekend in San Francisco, buying our daughter things for her dorm, new clothes, and an exquisite dinner her last night with us. We parted ways with her in the morning after a small breakfast. I was hardly able to eat considering I was crying the majority of the meal. Alfred was a great comfort, but I knew he was sad to see Grace spread her wings. It was bittersweet to be a parent sometimes.
"Papa," Grace had said as she hugged me tight. "I'll make you proud."
"Oh, poppet, you have every day since you were born, and you will every day after." I kissed her cheeks fondly. By now, she had started crying too.
How she had grown; my baby that once danced to Dora the Explorer and baked cookies with me was now a woman that was starting her independent life. She had developed into an attractive young lady, but she was not one to flaunt it. I had instilled good manners into her. That, and Alfred was a protective father. After Grace's first boyfriend, Adam, had met him, word got out that Grace's firefighting father threatened with an axe. They weren't completely off base, either.
Alfred was upset after Grace's leaving, but he didn't want to upset me any further. He worked to distract us. During the drive home we listened to old classics and sang along. We stopped often to eat and stretch our legs. Upon returning home, Alfred stripped me nude and made love to me. The sounds of our sex filled the entirety of the apartment. We had been unable to have such loud sex in years.
I could see the benefits of being an empty nester now.
I knew that by morning, Alfred wouldn't let me get dressed. So far, I'd been right. It was half-past noon and we'd already shagged twice. I swear, Alfred managed to make me feel young again every time he put his hands on me.
"I miss Grace," I mumbled.
Alfred pouted. "I'm not enough for you?"
"You provide love in a different way than her. I just hope she's doing all right. I worry…"
"Babe, she's fine." Alfred gave me a chaste kiss to my cheek. "She's in Berkeley and has two dads. She'll be the hit of the campus."
I chuckled. "Yes… I wonder how I'll finish my novel now."
"Your novel?"
I nodded. "Ever since Grace was born I've been working on it. Every chapter records an important event in her life, although the last chapters were more about us than her, but…"
Alfred propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at me. He didn't seem pleased by this news. "Wait, you're gonna release this book as in…everyone will read that we separated?"
"Well, that's just one part, darling." Alfred frowned more. "It doesn't matter anymore. We're married."
"It does matter, Arthur," Alfred said seriously. "It matters because that was a painful and personal time in our life. I don't want people knowing about that. I thought you liked privacy."
It was true. I was a very secretive man, but in all the years I had grown accustomed to talking in front of crowds about my love life. I guess part of that had chipped away. It was too invasive. When I had written Hospital Flowers I made sure to not include the hard months where Alfred and I fought. Even writing about Matthew's death seemed too much, but Nancy and Alfred agreed it was crucial to explain the way our relationship formed.
At length, I said gently, "I understand. Then, I'll keep it for us. No one will you see it but you, all right?"
That lifted Alfred's spirits, and he smiled again. He lay down next to me and pulled me for a kiss. Then, he moved to peck my temple. He kept his mouth close to my ear as he whispered, "I love you. If there is a heaven, I want to find you. I want to spend eternity with you. A lifetime isn't enough."
I closed my eyes, knowing he would always be my beloved. Our family had grown gracefully and our bonds were tested in ways they should never have been, but we were still there. Still bare and close and promising romantic futures as we had when we were young.
I'll say this one final time: I love Alfred Kirkland-Jones.
The first thing I remember in my life is seeing my parents happy and in love. They danced in the kitchen in the evenings and kissed before breakfast every morning. They held hands and communicated without words. In turn, they lavished this love and care onto me, and I felt safe when both of my dads were around. I wanted a love like that, and to be as happy as them.
When people learn I have two fathers, they think I can't comprehend "true love" or that I will never grasp the concept of a "family". Why does family have to be defined by marriage? What about single families or families that, like mine, are unable to marry until further on? Just because I was "devoid" of a female figure in my childhood didn't equate to me "losing out" on anything.
If we're to look at the basic things a family should have then I had a home, loving parents, food in my belly every night, security, and a good education. All other details are subject to individual's own different experiences, mine included.
Media often romanticizes or whore-ifies homosexual relationships, but they forget the key ingredient: people. Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, asxeuals, pansexuals, transgenders/transsexuals, and all those in-between are still people. They still suffer heartbreak and experience joy and want happiness in their life. Being heterosexual didn't mean they were the only humans to have such feelings. I should know as I am heterosexual.
My dads didn't raise me to "fear" women or not "love" them like I would a man, nor did they push for me to be attracted to them either. In reality, my parents didn't talk about relationships in front of me, theirs especially. They encouraged my admiration of princesses, my fascination with other cultures, my love of dancing, and to be a nice and open person. Rather than tell me what I should like, they let me choose.
It's a shame so many people in this world hated my parents, especially my father, Arthur. They believe he poisoned me and other people with his liberal ideas, when in actuality my father was quite traditional and conservative. He believed in the nuclear family ideal and the close-knit love between neighbors and friends and family. And to hate my dad is just laughable given how many lives he's saved over the course of his career.
So how is it wrong of me to look up to and admire such honorable men?
I found this story my father had written of their marriage and my life when I was sorting through my father's files on his laptop. He needed a new computer, but didn't know how to transfer the files. I knew he'd be upset if I found the story, so I kept a file for myself to read later. Occasionally I would check to see if he wrote anymore, but he never did. It seemed he lost steam once my dad expressed he didn't want it published.
When my parents separated I knew very little of what had actually happened. Granted, my dad told me his fears before he was found out by my father, but that was only his side. I never knew how much pain they were in, and how much of it my father shouldered.
My father was not an open man, even to me. He was an expert at telling stories, and that trend continued into his speeches. They were always vague accounts of our family, enough to satisfy a person, but not enough to make them know anything important. Often I would hear him complaining while at dinner about how personal some interviews were. So it wasn't a surprise to me when I read he knew my dad was hiding something, but said nothing. I guess that's why my parents worked so well together.
My dad, Alfred, always seemed so outgoing and talkative, but no one really listened to him. If they did, then they'd realize he never said anything about how he felt. It was more often than not about something casual. Like my father, he was a pro at hiding away.
When my father left, my dad broke down. He showed me all he had kept locked away. He was angry, hurt, scared, and heavy with guilt and regret. Even I had never seen my dad change from "daddy" to a human being. Every child has to see it at some point; that moment when their parents are suddenly vulnerable and bleed emotions. Being that I stayed with my dad during this ordeal, it was so much easier to see and empathize with his side. I became his best friend then. We were each other's confidences while we cried in shame and longing for my father to come home.
It was so easy to write my father off as some kind of emotionless whore the media loves to quickly label, but the issue wasn't so black and white. I knew he was hurt and that he hadn't cheated, but I didn't know the rest. And, it seems, my father didn't want to put all of that into his story either.
He left out how crude he had become to me and my dad. When he realized something was up, he started demanding things from my dad. He was bitter and cold, even when I knew my dad had made attempts to be warm to him. Then he started shutting me out, but I suppose I deserved that. I hadn't been the nicest to him either.
High school wasn't where my woes with bullies began, but it was where I broke, like my dad. I was done fighting, so I gave them what they wanted. I shoved my family away so I would be "normal". I said such horrible things about my parents behind their back, and it bled into my home life. Eventually, my dad's suspicions about my father affected my feelings for him, and most of my hatred for my social life was condensed all into blind loathing of my father. He didn't deserve that.
I had given up. I had to be better than who I was. My parents fought for each other and managed to renew their love. Through their strength and determination I was able to get back up and come out stronger. I knew I was better than those bullies.
If I hadn't been, I don't think my situation would have ever improved. I doubt my parents would have come back together if I hadn't been involved in the repairing process. Without everyone supporting each other, love would never have found its way back home.
My parents passed away only two months apart from each other. My father had been sick for months, and we all thought he'd be the first to go, however it was my dad who died first. I think the shock was what finished my father. They had been together for more than fifty years, and married for forty-eight. He couldn't imagine living without his husband for too long. But it was a good life. They were both in their late eighties, my father nearly ninety, and were able to see their grandchildren.
I raised my boys to know their grandparents. There was no shame that they had three grandfathers, two on my side and one from their father's. And the boys loved them. I still smile thinking about when they were young and how they'd ask if we'd drive down to Southern California to see them sometime. Towards the end of their life, I had moved my parents up from L.A. to live with me and my family in San Francisco. I think the sea air helped in some ways. I know they had many fond memories of this city.
My dad didn't want this public because he didn't want people to see they had separated, but I wish they had. I didn't want people to think my family was perfect. We had problems too. We were "normal", but we were different, and that can be a good thing. I wanted people to see what they had sacrificed to be together. Maybe then they can finally understand that through one crazy American and one stuffy Englishman that I learned what true love is from their raising me to know the difference between the UK and England, to them throwing me a quinceanera, to understanding true joys of American baseball.
It's not just one way, but in a multitude of ways. It comes from loving your daughter or son, from loving your parents, from loving your neighbors and friends, and from loving your spouse, whomever they happen to be.
We Jones' stick together. I might have a different surname now, but I will always be a Kirkland-Jones. I am proud of my dads for who they were and who they always will be in my heart.Hoshiko2's cents: I hope you enjoyed this sequel to Hospital Flowers. I had this story in mind for months, and the end was especially hard for me. I knew I had to have the story published, obviously, but how. To have Grace in the end came to me in a burst of inspiration. Thank you for everything, and see you at the next story.