I was a lucky girl. I grew up next door to my grandparents. Every day I would make my way across the yard and eat breakfast with them. My brother and sister and I would play in the yard and in the summer the smell of lilacs would permeate the air. All around the house, my granny planted pansies. I would pick them and press them into the pages of my journal of hidden thoughts and childhood poetry. I still have them and now and again when I am feeling particularly sentimental, I open the pages, read the poetry of my youth and touch the paperthin petals of the pansies. My granny was the first to go and then my sister and then my grandpa joined them. When I go home to visit my parents, I look over at the house where we grew and played and I miss the pansies that no longer spread across the bedding...and so now I grow my own.