I intended to keep maintaining it for however many years I had left.
The following spring, a twenty-two-year-old young man would kneel beside me in borrowed gardening gloves.
Together, we would place red and yellow flowers into the pattern Roy had created decades earlier.
Kyle would not understand everything the garden meant.
Not completely.
Perhaps nobody besides me ever could.
But he would understand more than he had before.
And perhaps that was enough.
Understanding rarely arrives all at once.
We gather pieces of it over the years.
We plant
