the year my Gran died, she haunted my garden

My Gran was an avid gardener, and her favorite flowers were delphiniums. Her father had been a prize-winning delphinium grower, she had delphiniums at her wedding to my Grandad, and she grew them in her garden when they immigrated to Canada. When I moved into my house, I was so excited that there was a small patch of delphiniums growing, and I started propagating them and spreading them around the yard. I told Gran about my delphiniums, and she gave me a photo of my great-grandad holding the silver cup he won for his flowers, and a photo of him standing by his delphiniums in his garden.

Gran died in March of 2022; one of the photos of her we displayed at her funeral was her sitting beside her delphinium plant in the garden she had when I was a child, before my Gran and Grandad downsized and she didn’t have growing space any more. Her garden is always in my mind when I work on my garden.

That summer, the delphiniums in my garden grew bigger and better than they had ever before. Some bloomed unusually early, others kept blooming unusually late, they popped up in places I hadn’t planted them, and thrived in places where they usually struggled. Where I had previously had some slight variation in colour, I now had a profusion of blues and purples and almost-whites.

Every time I went outside, it was like Gran was saying hello. She gave me flowers and I told her I missed her and the garden helped to ease me through her loss. When a particularly lovely delphinium bloomed, or when a delphinium that had been struggling under my spruce tree grew incredibly well, I’d say “thank you, Gran”, and would feel her working with me in the soil and with the plants. I have a favourite delphinium that appeared that summer and continues to grow every year since, it has both blue and purple petals and blooms for ages, I love it. I love that it was a gift from my Gran.

My Grandad died on Saturday, and I hope he haunts me too. Right now I just feel bereft, and there isn’t much room for anything else, but when there is room, I hope that I notice him saying hello. I hope I have moments where math comes to me more easily, or I have an idea for a way to improve a tool, or I hear some organ music, or I see a view and want to paint it. I want to say hello, and thank you, and I miss you.