The garden was in full bloom. It had always held a special place in Clarisse's heart. It was here she had learned that she was pregnant so many years ago. What a joy it had been to sit in the garden and feel her children kick inside her.
Her children loved the garden also. They would sit for hours with their mother re-naming their favorite flowers. Clarisse taught them how to tend tothe flowers. Each one had their own special flower boxso they could plant whatever they wanted. Philippe always planted a rose for his mother.
Rupert never enjoyed the garden. He didn't have time for gentle things. Clarisse felt at times that included her.
When Rupert died, Clarisse went to the garden and planted a flower in remembrance. After a day, his flower shriveled up and died. Clarisse could explain it scientifically but, in her heart, she knew. That was just like Rupert. He always sucked the life out of everything: special occasions, daily things, their love.
It was a very different story with her youngest son. When Philippe passed away, Clarisse couldn't go into the garden. She couldn't bare to face all the memories of her little boy. Those chubby little legs of his used to run around the trees playing "catch-me-if-you-can" with her. Philippe gave his first date a rose from the garden. It was here that he told his mother about his American daughter. Their last tea was here too.
Charlotte was asked to plant a rose for him. Philippe's rose took root and started to grow. It was a beautiful shade of yellow with touches of golden orange around the edges. Charlotte tended toit lovingly for her queen. He had been her friend too. This one rose was very important. She knew one day Clarisse once more would visit the garden.
