At eighty-six, Grandpa was still a good gardener, so I always watched for his earliest blooms. I was especially interested in flowers that year because I was planning to look after my own yard and hoped to get Grandpa's advice.
It was right after the first rush of purple violets that spring that Grandpa had a stroke. It left him without speech and with no movement on his left side. The whole family took turns to spend many hours by his side. Some days his eyes were eloquent - listening carefully and laughing at our reported troubles. As for his inability to care for himself, he didn't show any painful feelings. There was always a gentle smile on his face. There were days, too, when he slept most of the time, fighting with his coming death.
As some months passed, I helped look after the garden with Grandpa's eyes. Each time I was with him, I gave him a garden report. He listened, holding my hand with the sure strength and calmness he had always had.
Grandpa's illness held him through the spring and on, week by week, through summer. As I waited and watched in the garden and by Grandpa's side, I found some quiet truths. I realized Grandpa loved flowers that always bloomed. But I also noticed he left plenty of room for the sunlight to come in. Not every corner of his garden was constantly in bloom, but there was always a treasured surprise somewhere.
I came to see, too, that Grandpa's garden mirrored his life. He was a hard-working worker who knew the law of the harvest. But along with his hard work, Grandpa knew how to enjoy each season, and each change. Few flowers last from April to November - some of the most beautiful bloom for only a month at most. To really enjoy garden, you have to plant rows of flowers, each in its own season. Even when it is time in winter-few flower8 bloom, there is still sunshine to enjoy.
It was the end of August when Grandpa died. I cut some flowers in Grandpa's garden for him. We all felt how much Grandpa would have liked that,
The October after Grandpa's death, I planted different flowers in the garden. Each bloom was a love sent to Grandpa. and n promise of spring.
