My mother, Allison, and I visited Ian's grave today. It was in the month of May we lost him. But every May about this time there's a rose bush in our backyard that blooms. I rarely go to his grave, but when those roses bloom I'm reminded of him. I snip a few and wrap them with a ribbon and take them to him. Memorial Day, birthday, death day, holidays--none seem to touch me as much as the first bloom of that red rosebush. That's my special hello. It's the one ritual I allow myself, the only one that feels worthy.
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