Before my dad passed, he went on a mission to do a decade’s worth of work in a few months. As he worked, he slowly faded away until he was unable to move at all. A memory that is both hauntingly sad but riddled with the beauty of someone who is determined to create as much abundance as possible for their family all the while knowing they will never see the golden glow of their efforts.

His last task was planting the farm full of winter wheat. Wheat that is planted in the fall and harvested the following summer. He passed December 8th, 2010, never seeing a single strand of his last work.

My siblings and I all have bunches of this wheat. To me it is a piece of him, perhaps some of the best of him. A reminder of what is this life. Short and troubled. Stunning and shattering.

This past week, I know of two families including my own who find themselves travelling the path of the shattering.

So, I have this wheat, and since my dad's passing, I have been sharing it unbeknownst to its recipient in bouquets of flowers. One of my most valued possessions and a piece of him to those who now walk the beginning of a path I once did.

A piece of him that deserves to be shared with the world. Selflessness, hard work, determination, and strength. The parts I choose to remember. That bring me peace when grief raises its head to remind me that this is a journey not a destination. Simply because just like grief that is not how deeply loving someone works. It is messy, complicated, beautiful, and sad.

So, one day when you least expect it, look for some wheat mixed in with your blooms because perhaps you need it just like I do.

Emma-Lee Harrison-Hill