doctors told me it happened quickly.
I decided a long time ago that I would believe them.
After Roy died, I kept the garden exactly as he had designed it.
Or at least as exactly as anyone can keep a garden.
Gardens change.
Flowers die.
Winters come.
Soil needs replacing.
Plants have to be moved or replanted.
But every spring, I restored the same pattern.
Red flowers.
Yellow flowers.
The same sweeping curve Roy had created in 1997.
Every year, I spent one afternoon kneeling in the dirt, planting everything
