Packing was always something Peggy found cathartic, while most hated it, she was a pro.
Having done it on and off for years with boarding school, she loved it, as it symbolised a trip of some kind, a new place and new people.
Had it been a year? She thought, as she packed her bag for Washington, folding her freshly pressed blouses into her small case.
Of course it had been a year, she had counted and been aware of every single slowly passing day between where she stood and then.
But, she had a personal mission of sorts now, an action many might see as a waste of her time, or pointless, considering. But they were actions she needed to take.
The fact that there was a grave at all was important, even if they never did recover his body, the grave was a symbol of his sacrifice.
And as a mark of what he meant to her, she would vow to visit when she could but at the least once a year on the day he saved the world.
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