By Rose Vilanova
My grandma used to have a garden.
A big, flourishing yard,
filled with a myriad of colors.
Yet, while it was grand and beautiful,
what I admired the most was the dedication.
To love something so much,
you put all this time and effort into making it something amazing.
She used to call me ‘her little helper’.
And nothing filled me with more joy than standing in that warm sun,
digging in the dirt to plant the new addition to her collection.
We would travel across the house, to the back, front, and sides,
making sure that the entire house was brimming with color.
Sitting down with a cold glass of water was my greatest reward back then.
I used to feel accomplished and proud of the work I’ve done.
And hearing my Grandma say how lucky she was to have me helping her,
would always put a smile on my face.
When did it all disappear?
When did my enjoyment turn to annoyance?
The sun felt like a blistering burn across my skin.
The soil made me dirty and disgusting.
The flowers, the air, the bugs,
I disliked everything that I used to love.
I made every excuse in the book to avoid stepping a foot into that place.
In reality, deep down inside, I was jealous.
I resented the fact that she was happy, living her life,
while mine was slipping through my fingers.
So I ignored her at every opportunity,
And I never even saw the decay setting inside her.
The garden dwindled in number, the life fading away.
Her body could no longer do it, even if her mind wanted to.
Yet she continued to go out every day.
The dedication I admired always stayed unwavering and strong.
Until she finally let go.
I should’ve been there.
By her side, comforting her as she passes.
I should have done more.
I should have curated her garden alongside her until her last days.
I wasn’t though.
I was miles away, laughing alongside my friends.
All my regrets and my pain, everything lingers in my brain all the time.
And I can’t fix it now that she’s gone.
All I’m left with are the memories of that sanctuary I once had.
I wish I were still standing in that morning sun,
digging holes in the dirt.
Planting the seeds that would make this barren landscape something magical.
I wish I were still that little girl who smiled brightly at her.
I wish I had more time.
I never got to express how much she meant to me.
Never got to thank her for all she has done.
So instead, I sit in this garden attempting to bring life,
to something dead.