Memorial Day

My dad fought in World War II. Rob was never someone to revel in war stories, and rarely talked about his experiences except to tell self-deprecating stories about chasing camels from watering holes in Libya so he could take a bath or sleeping in Italian vineyards after the Battle of Monte Cassino. He received two Purple Hearts and a Good Conduct Medal. He gave me the Good Conduct Medal a few years ago and told me to give it to my dog.

Rob met Doris after the war and they were married in 1948. They moved into the first floor apartment of my grandfather's house, where my father had lived since he was five years old. By the time I was five, my parents, now with four kids, had moved to the larger, two-floor upstairs apartment, while my grandparents had moved to the first floor.

Rob has always had a green thumb and started a vegetable garden in the back yard of the house during the great depression, when he was about 13. When my mother moved into the house she gradually took over the flower garden as my grandmother’s health failed. It was a good division of labor. Every winter, Doris pored through flower catalogs, asking Rob what he thought of this lily or that daisy. Rob read up on green beans and squash and asked Doris if she wanted tomatoes for sauces or salads this year.

My mom died in 2001. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in late May and passed away in early July. One of her last instructions was to have Rob thin the day lilies because they were really getting overcrowded. The flower garden wasn’t carefully tended that year or the next. But eventually, Rob began to tackle the columbine and cone flowers and geraniums and clematis.

It’s been eight years since Doris passed away. Rob now grows flowers like he grows vegetables. He goes for big volumes and high production and if she could see it, Doris would roll her eyes and say “Oh jeez Rob! Cut back those cone flowers!”

On Memorial Day, I took Rob to the cemetery so he could plant something for Doris. Her stone is easy to spot because of the enormous clump of day lilies, daffodils and columbine around its base. Rob brought a calla lily, a geranium and a clematis to plant, though he doubted the clematis would make it. He cut back the daffodils and pulled a few of the bulbs. I began to pack them up to bring back to the car, but he said “Ya know, I think we can fit these in back here.” I heard a faint spinning sound from beneath my feet. He inspected them for grubs and replanted them close to the headstone, which has both their names on it.