. . just as I was writing about her, my sweet most beloved Gram, passed from this world to the next. I imagine my father there to greet her, to make her laugh again. I imagine tomorrow they will plant their own spring garden together – just in time for peas to go in, maybe start a few late tomato plants. Tomorrow, I’ll be in the garden, sowing seeds with tears of sadness, but getting dirt under my fingernails, just as Gram would have done.