My Dad passed away this spring. He was an avid gardener and didn't quite make it to see the red tulips he had planted bloom once again in front of the house. I owe so much to him...my love of nature and the garden, a sense of responsibility and hard work and the need to be creative and follow ideas where they take you.
Dad would work tirelessly on the garden. Even in his late 70s he could out pace me. He would putter steadily, deadheading marigolds and clipping ivy. This year, as I take over his gardening chores, I realize what his steady work achieved. His garden doesn't match the standards he set, but mom, whose eyesight is failing, is happy with the bright color I planted for her this year.
Dad is missed terribly, but his memory lives on in traditions he established and funny stories we share with one another. My mom, brother and I have all shared that we dream about Dad and he has been happy in those dreams. We can only hope that where he is now is a radiantly happy place, filled with flowers and green lawns that he loved so much.
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