Watering the Garden

My mother loved to water her garden.

We had sprinklers.

There were six children, and I know she went outside and watered to have her time alone.

I followed sometimes. She never seemed to mind.

She would use her thumb to fan the water at the end of the hose just right.

I inherited that beautiful thumb!

But it doesn’t look quite as pretty on my freckly white hand as it did on her tan one, always with a long thick fingernail.

She talked to the plants and flowers as she watered.

I heard her.

She would whisper, too.

I asked her once what she whispered, while she watered.

She told me she prayed for each us.

That made me feel safe.

Right now…

I have this need to water.

Not like I have in the past

But like my mother.

I fan the hose with my thumb.

Plants don’t like me as much as they liked my mom, but I try to make friends.

I whisper now too.

I miss my mom.

It has only been five months since she left us behind.

But I can feel her next to me, in the breeze,

as I water.

Watering has now become holy to me…

I hope she still waters in heaven

and whispers about us.

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