Final Goodbyes

I wave Ruth out of the room and am left standing in the empty apartment alone. The apartment is stripped bare of almost all the furniture, with only the faded floral wallpaper left. I look down at my plant sitting on the table; it is in full bloom, ready to thrive in a lush bed of soil. I have nurtured it for what seems like a lifetime. Looking from those bright, healthy leaves to the tired walls and floors of the apartment, I can imagine my husband coming in after a long day of work, taking off his hat and still managing a smile. This place is adorned with his memory. To be leaving here for good - the thought forces up "a great heaving thing," (Hansberry 151) from my heart, and I suppress it with a fist to the mouth. I take one final glance around the apartment and go on my way, pulling on a coat as I leave. As I reach the staircase outside, I suddenly remember my plant, which is still sitting on the table, and quickly turn back to collect it. Leaving the apartment for the final time, I clutch the plant to my chest, deciding that my husband will always be with us.