My Grandmother's Garden

I stood at the edge of my grandmother’s garden. As the rain fell, it picked up speed, changing to silver streaks against the grey blue sky. Drops dripped from my bangs and quickly ran down my nose mixing with the tears that purged from the inner corners of my eyes.

“Are you ready?” I heard my mother’s voice behind me. I felt her hand gently land and rest upon my shoulder.

I turned and scanned my mother’s face, looking for solace. Exhaustion had taken its toll, settling in on my mother’s features. Dark circles had formed and made their home underneath her weary eyes. The corners of her mouth stretched downwards to a permanent frown. Her eyes slowly lifted to meet mine and for a moment, we shared each other’s grief.

“Not yet.” I wasn’t ready to let go.

“I’ll wait in the car. Come when you’re ready.” My mother pulled the hood of her jacket up over her rain soaked hair as she made her way across the field.

I remembered the day my grandmother and I planted this garden. I was 7 then. We dug each small hole and carefully dropped the tiny seeds, one at a time, in their designated place. Together, we celebrated with excitement as we welcomed each new sprout to the world. They have long since died out, rotting in the soil. Weeds have taken over, feeding on the nutrients of the broccoli and carrots and all else that that once was.

I picked up a garden rock and brushed my finger back and forth rubbing the coating of mud off its smooth surface revealing the word Spinich scribbled in green paint. It dawned on me then, that my grandmother in her beautiful acceptance didn’t correct my misspell. That was one of the many things that I had admired about my grandmother. She lived floating through life with grace and ease. Even through her three year battle with cancer, she rarely got angry even in the ever changing tides of her disease.

In her weakened state, she held my arm as we walked out to the garden to harvest the ripened tomatoes that looked like large jewels hanging fat, heavy on their vines. Her smile was radiant as she spoke. “I cherish these times in the garden with you, I hope you know,” her eyes brightened with sincerity as the words reached out to me. This was her last visit to the garden.

I clenched my fist and held the rock tightly to my chest. My chest heaved with each breath as tears freely flowed from my eyes. “I will always cherish them too, grandma,” the whisper escaped from my lips.

The wind started to kick up as I turned and walked back through the long overgrown grass that began to lay flat from the strong gusts, weighted from the moisture it held. I detoured left and made my way to the old, run down barn that sat on the edge of the field. The barn had seen better days.

When my grandfather was still alive the barn served as a stable for their two horses during the winter. With his passing, my grandmother couldn’t bear the heavy burden of their upkeep, so she reluctantly sold them at an auction.

The wheelbarrow that was parked just outside the door, still held a few dried out weeds we had pulled last summer. They swirled around in the pool that was just forming in its metal basin. I pulled the door open despite the rusty latch that resisted my tug.

The inside of the barn still had a strong animal odor despite the many years it had been since the horses lived there. The stalls that held the horses divided the barn into four sections. Scares piles of hay blanketed the floor in their designated areas amongst the large puddles of water that had formed. My eyes followed the constant drips up to the seepage through the growing holes in the rotting roof. Wind gust rattled the sides of the barn and howled as they pushed their way through the open windows.

Garden tools lined the far wall. My grandmother had built a potting station in the corner of the barn where we would sometimes transfer our seedlings to large pots that adorned her back patio. My grandmother’s green garden gloves lay resting on the table just adjacent to my little pink ones I used to wear as a kid. I picked up the small right glove and compared it to my hand. Its fingertips just fell short of my last knuckles. I scanned the anterior of the barn and sighed as I set the glove back to meet its mate.

I slid my palm up the dilapidated railing of the stalls as I made my way towards the door. Another wind blast hit and the old barn's structure groaned with its assault. Becoming alarmed by the warning, my feet picked up speed moving faster towards the door. There was a howl then a loud crack and that’s when everything went black.

The darkness turned to light and swirled all around me. It gathered to one concentrated point that beamed out like a shiny star in the night’s sky. Through the center point, I saw my grandmother’s figure getting closer and closer until she was in full view. Her mouth formed the familiar smile I’ve always known. Although she didn’t speak, I heard her thoughts. “It’s not your time, dear. Your mother needs you. You must go back but I’ll always be with you.”

The light beams slowly retracted towards the center point as did my grandmother. She became smaller pulling further and further away from me until she was gone. Darkness took over as I faded back into consciousness.

I heard mother’s voice yelling my name and my awareness was back at the barn. Something heavy and weighted pinned me to the floor. Pain pulsed through my body. I couldn’t move. Darkness again.

My eyes slowly opened to the roar of a siren as the ambulance that carried me sped toward the hospital. My mother sat next to me. I could feel the weight of her heart resting on my shoulders. Slowly, I reached out my hand and her hand met mine. She squeezed it tightly as if she would never let it go. Her tearful eyes met mine as if searching for reassurance.

I hoped that maybe she could read my thoughts like I did my grandmother’s. “Don’t worry. I’m not letting go. I’m here.”