The Healing Journey

June 4, 2026

(Photo by Janice Wallace)

My Mother in the Garden

By Brian D. Wallace

My mother died again this afternoon
And there was little I could do
The flag of hosta unfurled, lilies in bloom

I should have put everything down
The weeder, the hand rake, the white clippers
Dropped them all and stood over

The open grave of the hour
Saluted by the dizzying of bees, the swifts flyover,
But I kept on working

Slowly, deliberately, silently
Drawing a breath in
And letting go of her again

Though she picks moments like this
To come back with her quiet, shy chuckle
And Buddha-like grin

A garden is a most ephemeral thing
I spend hours out here doing nothing
For gain or for anyone else

And out of nowhere she dies again
As if an afternoon is an entire life with its own rhythm
And she tells me to keep on going…
(Writer Brian D. Wallace is former editor of Fairfield County Catholic.)

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