The morning after my father’s funeral, my ex-husband’s new wife came into his garden and ordered me to start packing my things and leave immediately

Your father forgave him. They still played golf together every Sunday.”

The words struck harder than she realized.

My father had been gone only three weeks.

Pancreatic cancer had taken him far too quickly.

One season he was walking these gardens himself.

The next, I was standing at his graveside trying desperately to remember the sound of his laugh.

And continue reading …