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| A Novel of Love - There was once but now no more. |
With the exception of my stable Rosemary all of my mentors have been older than I am.
During the gardening boom in Vancouver in the 90s, we had the Fern Lady, the Rhododendron Man, the Magnolia Man, the Rose Woman, the Clematis Doctor and many more experts. They are all dead. When I seek advice on my roses all I can do is look at myself in the mirror.
When I want advice from someone with experience, I have come to accept that they are all dead.
One special mentor was my long-time friend Abraham who died in August 2009. What made him especially wonderful is that I met him when I was in my late 50s. Everything that is happening to me now that I am 82, he informed me it would happen.
Currently I have come to a realization of a feeling that I have nobody I can consult.
On Easter Sunday I had a pleasant day with my two daughters and one granddaughter. By the end of the afternoon I found myself wanting to go home to my Niño and Niña. Today my eldest daughter called and asked me if I would want to spend the afternoon with her and Lauren at Deer Lake in Burnaby. I found myself answering, “I think I will stay home.”
I have ruminated about my decision. This is what I think is happening to me. I like being at home, surrounded by all the photographs on the walls, the items that Rosemary and I bought in Mexico, the stuff I inherited from my family, and looking at the plants in the garden that used to be ours. Most of the photographs in our guest bathroom, many of Rosemary, are of family that is now all dead.
All of it is wonderfully, but sadly satisfying, in its unchanging way. When I am on the bed with my two cats I can imagine and feel the absent presence of Rosemary. The melancholic walk with Niño around the block is one where I can sense Rosemary’s presence and I can hear her telling me, “Alex, don’t shout at Niño when he lingers in a garden. Be patient.”
I have come to understand that I want to be alone with her.