I’ve been reblogging some of Paul’s brother’s posts lately. Partly because they have stories or photos of him that I hadn’t heard or seen before. And I want to have them here so I can read them easily. Some I haven’t even read. I’m not ready to.
It’s been hitting me the last few days that the memorial sort of opened a wound that had started to heal. I was sort of getting used to the fact that he wasn’t here any longer. Or I thought I was anyway.
I haven’t had the desire to work in the garden because it reminds me of him. He helped me plant this or that, or we had many, many, discussions about what this flower’s name was, what it was doing and why. He helped me prune that tree, and he helped me bury one of my cats under the other one.
It’s hard to even look at the garden without memories of him. One of the vines was driving him crazy because it was dormant and was just bare stems. I wish he’d worked on it. I can’t do it now, it was his project.
He had the idea of planting the cactus (which I’d thrown into the ivy) up on the bank between retaining walls. He carved out a level spot out of the granite so we could put planter boxes there. Had I known how bad his back was and how much pain this was causing him I never would have let him do it. But he was game for anything when it had to do with gardening. As first I’d introduce him to my friends as my “gardening buddy.” But later it was “My good friend Paul who helps me with my gardening.” The cactus is doing very well by the way.