Forget-me-not

Time is a fluid commodity, running through our memory like water in the hand.  Memories of birthdays, holidays, Christmas past and sad anniversaries. Twenty years ago it had been a long wet summer; the schools had just gone back, our youngest started nursery. An early autumn day, the first really sunny day with cool, clear air, we went to the park and came back to a phone call. That Christmas my sister and I sat on the end of the parental bed watching “Grandpa” and wept. Twenty years on, as I dig my garden, I think of following my dad through the greenhouses, watching as he worked. I thought he was invincible…

Light & Shade

Now we sit with our mums trying to make sense of our world, as we try and make sense of theirs and realise how much we forgot to remember and how much we forgot to ask. No doubt it has always been thus and always shall be hence.

So I’m designing a “Forget-me-Not” Garden with Rosemary for Remembrance, Sage for the “Sage-ing” years, Roses for Love, Sweet violets. I’ll fill it with flowers from my childhood, Snowdrops, Daffodils, Pinks and Forget-me-not.  The rose I’ve been looking for, the one that grew at home, I found it, growing on the wall at my mum’s care home. Maybe if I show it to her she will remember it’s name… 

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