Garden Grace

Every year, Nik’s memorial garden amazes and delights with an explosion of color. The daffodils begin the parade, announcing the return of summer, swiftly followed by the iris blossoms in an amazing array of purples, yellows, pinks, chocolates, light blues, and lavenders.

I’m not by nature a gardener, but am blessed with numerous gardening friends that bring new treats for me to plant. The garden seems to be blessed by angel wings, because everything grows in Nik’s garden (including the weeds).

Digging in the rich soil, pulling weeds, and caring for the memorial garden brings me a sense of balance and peace. In the garden, I feel as if I am surrounded by my son’s love. It’s a place where I can fight the demons of guilt, anger, and the pain of the missing, and embrace the happy memories and focus on light and laughter.

Soon, the berries will bare fruit, the lettuce will be ready for harvesting, and I will enjoy the produce of this special space created in memory of my son. I miss you, Niko, every day.

RED, by Rhoda Sanford

I read it, long ago
how the trees sing in the wind,
how the tulips dance.
Long ago, I read it.

Today, I watch
red roses bloom,
reflections of the sun,
swaying with the breeze.
I watch today.

Tomorrow I wait
for the birds to flock,
red robins hopping on the grass,
jays scolding from the trees.
I wait for tomorrow.

No Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday. The missing swallows the day. No trace of your smile lines my face. My eyes glitter with tears.