Forget-me-not

A garden, a grandfather, and the girl I'd been looking for

I’d always had a sense that I belonged elsewhere. It was a feeling of never quite understanding my place here, as though I was born in the wrong place or at the wrong time.

Photo by Diana Parkhouse on Unsplash

I dreamed of green rolling hills and gardens filled with fragrant flowers that appeared to be scattered with wild abandon. I dreamed of rambling along ancient footpaths, imagining all those who had trodden there before me, feeling the echoes of their feet. I dreamed of having a deep connection to the land and my ancestors, sensing them holding me from the beyond.

“What might that be like?” I wondered one quiet June morning as I sat beneath the plum tree in the corner of my garden. The sun slowly lifted over the meadow behind me, and I found myself drifting into a reverie, caught in the liminal light waking the garden.

I seemed to float, and when I landed, I saw myself in another garden. One that lived in my memory, and I smiled as the threads of remembering drifted into my awareness. I was 12 again; carefree and enjoying life. I was the version of me who knew how to play and how to be herself, and she was the version of me who was slowly losing herself in the expectations of others. She was the me I’ve been seeking, and who I’ve felt calling me through the layers of remembering.

There I was, my 12-year-old self walking among the roses with “Bop”, my paternal grandfather who tended his garden with love and old wisdom. We admired each rose as it revealed its colour and scent, and I listened intently as Bop told me the story of each one and explained how he cared for them. We watered them together, carefully soaking the soil, but not the leaves so they didn’t burn in the summer sun.

“The water drops are like magnifying glasses,” Bop said, “and they focus the sunlight and burn the leaves, so be sure to wet only the ground.”

“That’s interesting,” I thought; “that a water drop can burn a leaf.” I heeded his warning and slowly poured the water from the watering can I held inches above the soil so I could be precise.

We wandered over to the veggie patch, and Bop bent over to pick a cucumber. When we got to the runner beans towering over my head, he reached up and said, “We need to come back later with a bowl to get them — beans for lunch.” He grinned triumphantly.

I looked around the garden, marvelling at all the varieties of veggies he had grown.

My eye stopped as I saw a tiny blue flower, and I hurried over to see what it was. Bop followed me and as we bent over to look, he reached and pulled it out of the ground. “Bloody weed,” he said. “Oh,” I cried, “but it’s so pretty.”

“It might be pretty,” Bop said, “but Forget-me-nots are diabolical — if you don’t stop them, they’ll be everywhere and take all the food and water from the vegetables,” he explained as he tossed the petite bloom onto the compost. As we walked away, I cast a look back to the flower resting sadly on top of the compost. “Sorry little flower,” I whispered.

A change in the light pulled me out of my garden reverie, and as I looked up, I saw I was back beneath the plum tree and the wind had picked up. The leaves stirred overhead, dappling the sunlight on my face. I lifted my now lukewarm tea from beside me. “Time to move,” I said to the sleeping dog at my feet.

As I got up from my chair, I couldn’t resist another look at the rose bushes. A few steps across the grass, and I caught their scent as the thin morning sun warmed their petals. I felt the soft curve of a smile across my face as my eyes seemed to see back through time, meeting that girl who helped so many years ago.

I reached out to cup a blossom, bringing it closer to my face to breathe in its delicate perfume. As I leaned forward, I caught a flash of blue. Moving the rose blossoms aside, I looked down and there looking up at me was a tiny forget-me-not. It sat inches from the base of the rose, and I couldn’t believe I’d missed it in my previous garden visits. “Cheeky thing,” I whispered, “you can stay a bit longer, but I’m watching you.”

I took one last breath of the rose and walked across the now-warm grass. My eyes welled with tears and the memories washed over me, but still I smiled. “I remember,” I told myself, and whoever was listening from the beyond.