Maria Elena, who potted the plants I keep here in this special window, is buried outside under the mesquite tree. If you stand here you can look through the window and see the tree. I like to imagine that Maria Elena is watching her plants grow. She would know that the crepe myrtle is blooming its blood red blossom for her.
She was precise. You can see that in the neat pattern of holes she made in the bottom of this coffee can. And this plant here – it sits on a plate her granddaughter made in kindergarten. It says “To Grandmother from Rosa Linda.”
When Rosa Linda comes to see me now, she comes here, to these plants, to this window, to see her grandmother. I, too, come here to this window. I bring my coffee in the morning and say hello to Maria Elena. She gets me going. She keeps me going. I miss her, but she is here, too, like she never left.
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