You know “it’s not a holiday if you don’t have a project” and this year my project was to “do something” with the front flower bed. I’ve had the same project every Memorial Day since you left. I would weed the flower bed, put down new mulch, but I never planted anything because I couldn’t make up my mind about what I wanted. So I didn’t plant anything and half-heartedly tended to the weeds that took over. Every fall I would say “next year I’m going to do something with that flower bed.” Every spring I would look at the seed catalogs, scout out new plants at the garden centers . . . and since I couldn’t make up my mind . . . I did nothing. This year I decided that “doing something” would be tearing it out.
I want to apologize for un-doing the beautiful work you did to create the front flower bed. Trust me, this was not an easy decision for me. I’ve agonized over it for weeks. I stood in front of the flower bed and cried because I remembered how much precision you put into putting down the weed barrier cloth, how exacting you were in placing the border stones, and the many conversations we had and trips we took to find the right plants.
I’m not a gardener. I’m a certified plant killer. I can kill a philodendron (and have many times). I don’t like yard work. It was fun when you were here to share the work load but now it’s a chore . . . one that I dread every week . . . the phrase “I really hate your ass right now” is uttered at least once during every yard work session. I could do it if I wanted to . . . but I don’t want to . . . so I’m not going to torture myself over it anymore.
So the border stones were carefully removed, cleaned, and stored in the shed . . . in case I change my mind next year and decide to put them back . . . the weed barrier cloth was taken up . . . and I’m headed to our favorite handyman store tomorrow to get a bag of top soil and grass seed to put where your lovely little flower bed used to be . . .
Your little concrete foxes are safely in place in the back yard . . . because I’m afraid they will be stolen if I leave them out front without the protection of the weeds they’ve been hiding behind for the last five years (gasp . . . it’s been five years . . . dang). Now I can see them every time I look out the back door.
Even though I’m sad that another part of “our” life is gone . . . I’m at peace with the decision. Or at least I will be once the new grass has taken hold and it doesn’t look like a construction site in the front yard.
I hope you understand . . .
Love you forever and forever, Pammie