Grandma Haines is moving to a retirement home this week and breaking up housekeeping, taking only a few things with her. She has given away her furniture but also priceless things, her daddy’s sermon notebook, the family Bible, her childhood purses and dolls, and her mama’s old dishes. She is leaving the church and her esteemed position in it, the horse-field, the house her family built, the fence that Grandpa had repeatedly repaired, and the flowers that still bloom every Spring since her Mama fingered their seeds in the ground. She is leaving this week as the green stalks push up from the leaves. I wonder if last year she took them in, those tulips and day lilies. I wonder if she looked at the roses and breathed in her last memory of them.