Grandad's Garden

Spring has sprung, like the alluring leaves of life, but without the bloom of an echo from the voice of an angel that comes in heaven’s door.

Grandad was a man who loved spring; he was always in the garden when the daffodils would sing quietly against the world.

Me and Grandad were the best of friends. He would say to me, “My English rose has blossomed again into a reign of life.” I smiled. “Grandad, why do you call me that?”

“Because it resembles beauty within a natural garden. It needs beauty, and you are the golden key to release the light.”

“Grandad, I did not know you were a poet,” I laughed cheerily.

As I travelled down the garden at the age of seven, with my spade in one hand and a little wheelbarrow in another, Grandad and I always liked to listen to the music of the garden—

The birds speaking, the flowers spiralling through the gentle wind.

I remember a lot from my childhood, but the garden was special, as Grandad and I spent my entire childhood getting to know the leaves and the bees that build honey for their families.

I stroll down to the bottom, where his vegetables are growing, and smile. I love how captivating that garden is.

Spring is my favourite time of year for two reasons: it’s my birthday, and also because I get to spend time with Grandad. He was always a man who followed his heart.

He was the world’s greatest flower bloom.

However, I didn’t go back to the green grass when Grandad died. I was twelve. I had deserted the life that we had built, but somehow I found magic again when the spring sprung, like always.

I saw a mirror at the end of the garden—that’s when I saw his reflection smiling at me.

“Grandad, why did you leave?”

“My darling English rose, I may not be with you physically, but I am here in this garden, always waiting for you to build your life here with your grandchildren.”

I took in the message and related it to my beloved family.

They smiled and said Grandad would always be here in our hearts.

I agree, and the garden speaks for itself. It blossoms into the full light of Grandad’s after-party—the day we said goodbye had begun, but the day also meant we would never be apart.