FATHER'S DAY

My father is 77 years old going on 55. Golfer, cyclist, volunteer, hero. My sister and I began texting each other about what to get dad for father's day. His birthday was in May and we got him a plant for his patio and a Streisand collection. At 77, there isn't much he needs or want. He wants my sister and I to be happy and healthy. He has lost his parents, our mother and both of his sons... my brothers so he knows what really matters and a new shirt or golf club, although nice, don't compare to the time that he is able to spend with us. What to do...what to do. I wonder as I look out of the windows of my sunroom at the wild flowers, the petunias and the fresh herbs that are flourishing after the recent rain and the sudden heat and then I know. Dirt. Dad would like some dirt. My mom and eldest brother were cremated and their ashes placed in niches, my other brother served in Desert Storm and has been buried in a military graveyard. In all cases it is difficult to leave flowers. So I decide. I text my sister "how about a memorial garden for dad, somewhere he can plant flowers, living things, to memorialize mom and the boys". A resounding YES. My husband had made the plots for my flowers and herbs, I asked if he would do the same for my dad and after a long, hot day of working on air conditoners (he is an HVAC tech) he drug out the tiller and the wooden posts and made my dad a garden. We gave dad some gardening tools and gift cards to Menards, walked into the yard and unveiled a crudely painted sign DAD'S DIRT and he was, well, speechless. I cannot begin to tell you how many golf tees, golf balls, golf shirts, records, cd's and books I have purchased for my dad throughout the years...but I can tell you this...nothing...I mean nothing beats a little dirt.