My mama’s birthday was on Friday. It’s always a hard season, this one. Remembering her getting so sick three years ago, celebrating her last birthday (and all the birthdays). Basically just missing her like crazy. It always surprises me how this grief thing can feel totally under control sometimes, and then I wake up one day and it’s all raw and sharp again.
So, we planted seeds. My mama loved gardening and she was really good at it. In fact, the only reason I want to be good at it is because she was. I remember sitting in my childhood backyard with her and watching her pull weeds and explain all the different plants to me. I remember planting watermelons and pumpkins outside my window as a kid. I remember digging in the dirt with my mom, sprouting dried beans and avocado pits and watering those little seedlings and watching things grow by her side. I want my kids to have those same memories, because they were happy ones. I kept telling them while we planted seeds Grammy would so love to be doing this with you, and of course they didn’t get it, but it was comforting to me to be getting messy and doing something in her honor.