I planted this plant after my surgery.
Why lavender?
“Because hospitals smell terrible.”
She laughed.
I wanted this place to smell hopeful when I came home.
Every corner of that garden had a meaning.
The roses next to the veranda marked Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding anniversary.
The white daisies were planted after my first school performance.
Bergamot plants filled an awkward corner after a particularly difficult summer.
Grandma’s explanation was simple.
This family needed something cheerful that wouldn’t be led around easily.
I once asked her how she remembered the story behind every plant.
She knelt down beside me, wiped the dirt off her gloves, and said:
Flowers are more beautiful than photos, honey.
“Why?”
Because a photo only proves that something happened.
She pointed to the garden.
