My sister and I visited my father's grave this summer together. First, we visited our childhood home, that we had long all moved away to see if anything was still the same. There were changes in the garden in front of the house. Many plants were gone that we had tended in the garden for years. Some we had transplanted when my mother moved, so they could be put in our our gardens. Some, we had taken seeds to begin in new gardens as well. A few trees had been taken out, which saddened us a lot. The old oak was gone, but a oak that my brother had planted from it's acorn was still growing, although it had been cut down. It was making a new comeback. The flower bushes were the most determined bunch, huge with growth. It was nice to see some hollyhocks had snuck back in, they are a hardy flower and seed so much they keep coming back up each year. (That's why we planted them.) There were even some daylilies left that we had gone to find in the country sied with Dad and trasplanted a few for our garden. I admit it, we used to flower rustle-just not protected species. That brought back more warm memories. We laughed and left, and went a few miles away where my father's grave is. We'd bought him some orange roses and some mixed orange flowers to leave for him. He loved the color orange, and roses were his favorite flower of all. I used to cringe when bringing home a friend because Dad had painted the front room orange, with a second coat of ragged textured orange on top to boot. I used to hate that room. Now, I would treaure it, as he loved it so. I'd even treaure his orange polyester suit that was even worse than the room, when he wasn't wearing his lime neon suit or mixing plaid and stripes. These roses were for Dad, for his love or orange and all flowers and gardens. We sat down by his head marker, that also had a rose engraved upon it. I even had to pull off some of the dreaded crabgrass that had try to grow over the edges of the marker. My sister laughed when I remarked, "Dad stil has me weeding." He used to love having me weed for him, a chore I did not mind. I find it relaxing and a good exercise with a constructive outcome. Although it saddens me he's gone, I was filled with joy upon my visit. He is near a peach tree, which he loved and a cherry tree. He wanted his plot to be by flowering trees. These flowers are for Dad. I will plant orange roses in my garden, and many of the flowers we spent hours together in remeberance. I often ear a laugh and feel his presence in a garden, so know he will enjoy it. It's been over 23 years now, but he's not far away from me in spirit and in my thoughts. Some things never fade away, especially not the flowers of our hearts.