"This here, this here is a gladiolus. It means strength and courage. When you grow up, you’ll be just as mighty and brave,”

Golden light filters through muddled glass in his childhood home. A fresh, earthy aroma simmers in the air. Neglected ceramic pots sit in every corner, filled with moist soil. Within them flowers grow, wild and unkempt but beautiful nonetheless. Blots of crimson, lemon yellow, violet and cream overlay leaves, some browning on the stems and others splattered like flecks of paint over the wooden floors.

“Look how colorful this one is! It’s called a geranium. It represents happiness and friendship.”

Atop the brick fireplace, faces smile back, framed by dusty gold, tarnished silver, dark wood. Joyful, youthful sunshine brightens the frozen faces. Next to those sit smaller frames. Peonies, flat as paper and brittle as twigs, pressed precariously between the edge of death and forever, their striking pink muffled by a suffocating layer of dust.

“This one is a lily. It can mean many things, like innocence and purity and rebirth. 

 The trees weep and the flowers wilt. A singular lily lies stark white against cold, inky granite embellished with his mother’s name