My father had a huge pelargonium in a tub on his front verandah and he was very proud of how prolifically it flowered. Every time he was admitted to hospital during his last year I watered and fed that plant so it could greet him, full of blooms, each time he came home.
When I knew he wasn’t going to come home again, I took cuttings from that plant. This photo is of the first flower one of my cuttings has produced, in my courtyard garden in Sydney.
We moved away from Sydney last year but my plant came with me. I repotted it and now it hangs, as a welcome, outside the front door.
My father’s spirit is in my garden. Oh how I miss him. 