A/N: written on 6 February 2006, in remembrance of Nivina, who died unexpectedly one year ago.
Remembering
"Has it really been a year?" Sam asked with a sigh as he dropped into a kitchen chair. "It seems half that, yet twice that, if you take my meaning."
"Aye," Rosie answered, turning from the stove to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "When you miss a body, time don't pass normal."
Sam nodded wordlessly. Too vivid were the memories as the sun sank behind the horizon, recalling a year earlier as he stood upon a quay and watched a grey ship sail into the sunset. He again felt the sudden, lonely emptiness that near knocked him over when the last bit of white sail disappeared and he realized for the first time that he was gone. It weren't the last time, neither: coming home to Bag End without him only deepened the blackness staining his heart. His hope that Mr. Frodo was faring well in the Elves' land was the only thing keeping the blackness from swallowing him whole.
Rosie seemed to sense this. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "He's well and happy. I'm sure of it."
Sam smiled wanly, and reached up to grasp her hand. "I know," he murmured in reply. "I just wish he could have been happy here."
"We all do. But this was best for Mr. Frodo, and he wouldn't want you moping about on his account."
"No, he wouldn't," he conceded.
Rosie let him stew on this for a minute, then said, "Now, are you going to help me with Mr. Frodo's birthday dinner or not?"
Sam looked up at her quizzically. "But his birthday was last week."
"So I can't keep proper track of time," she said dismissively. "It's the thought that counts, aye?"
This time Sam's smile was genuine. "Aye," he said, rising and rolling up his sleeves.