“ Well, you know, Gus, I don’ t like to put it that way. It makes it sound too sad. I like to say that he walked‘ into the garden.’ Doesn’ t that sound happier?” She asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“ Why is it a garden?” I asked.
“ Because gardens help me remember that sometimes, people can be like flowers. They are here for a little while, but might be gone sooner than we expect. Sort of like how seasons come and go.”
“ Grandpa really liked his garden. I think he would have liked to say it that way, too.” I replied, not even beginning to realize the metaphor of the words she had just spoken.“ I believe Grandpa liked those orange flowers. What are they called again?”
“ Day lilies, sweetie. Those were his favorite. He said they always reminded him that something good was just around the corner.”
We had ridden in silence after that. My mom hadn’ t liked for people to see her cry. She wasn’ t bashful by any means, but she wanted people to think she was strong. I knew she was. I had watched it be displayed before me throughout my whole childhood. She always had a unique way of explaining everything, even things as difficult to explain as death.
She would have wanted you to know how much she appreciated you being here tonight. She always talked about how much the people of this little town truly loved each other, despite their differences. Whatever those differences may be, she loved everyone the same even if they didn’ t necessarily love her in the same way. She was a gentle soul, who stood up for the people who couldn’ t stand up for themselves.
When I was in the seventh grade, I started to get nose bleeds. They were usually so fast I couldn’ t stop them without holding my nose until it just stopped. I was your average pre-puberty boy. My voice was just beginning to crack when I yelled or sang too high. One day, I got in a fight with a boy a school
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