Nana sank peacefully in her worn, faded armchair on the weathered deck, cradling a cup of steaming Earl Grey tea. She stared at her overgrown, wild garden, a reminder of what she once loved. She lifted the chipped mug to her lips, now shifting her gaze to the neighbour’s yard, which was surrounded by vibrant wildflower patches and covered in scattered toys and play equipment.
Nana used to come over for dinner there most nights, helping care for their garden. But that was then, when he was still alive. Now, their house was just another reminder of what was gone.
The small, squealing child suddenly burst into the yard, relentlessly chasing a bolting Jack Russell.
She abruptly stopped in her tracks, shifting her gaze to the ignored garden. Her excited expression shifted, now full of curiosity and wonder. As Nana sat there, confused, the child began to stumble to her yard.
‘Hello’, she greeted happily, while she flung open the rusty gate.
‘Hi there’, Nana replied, quite stunned by the child’s boldness.
She pointed a grubby hand to the garden. ‘Why does it look like that?’
Nana paused, finding the right words to explain. ‘Well…sometimes people love things. And then, they don’t.’
‘Why?’
Nana sighed. ‘Some things just aren’t fun anymore.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they’re harder to do.’
‘Why?’
‘Because…’ Nana paused, finding the right words, ‘Memories are connected to them that we don’t want to revisit.’
The child nodded, not understanding. ‘Well, can we fix it?’
Nana suddenly turned, hobbling back inside. ‘No’, she answered coldly and slammed the door.
She tiredly shuffled into her kitchen. After she finished chomping on a crumbly biscuit, she peeked through the window. The child happily waved, still standing in the garden.
Nana sighed and opened the door. ‘OK, let’s do this.’
The child beamed, revealing a pile of gardening equipment behind her. Nana chuckled and began to dig.
The sun faded beyond the horizon as they stood back to gaze at their hard work. The wilted flowers transformed into patches of gorgeous, pastel roses and the untrimmed bushes converted into luscious clumps of bright leaves.
‘It’s beautiful!’ the child beamed.
‘It is.’
The child came over every morning for the next month to work on the garden. It became a routine, Nana’s broken memories slowly healing with the plants. Every root watered, every flower placed, gradually calmed the grief. But one day, one reappeared…
‘Look! A new flower!’ The child announced, pointing to a bright red rose.
Nana froze, an old memory of him reforming.
‘Look after the roses for me,’ he whispered, only moments before he was gone.
And when Nana focused on the fresh flower, she saw his bright grin, his careful hands, his gentle care.
Him.
Olivia Eltham, Year 6, Millthorpe Public School