Three Days Before the Casket Was Delivered, My Son Asked Me to Sign a Document

The backyard garden smelled of damp leaves and freshly turned earth.

Chloe knelt next to me on my old canvas kneeler, gripping the red plastic trowel like a spoon.

“Not too deep,” I said.

“The bulbs have to sleep under the dirt.”

“Like in a bed?”

“Just like a bed.”

She patted the dark soil down over the first tulip bulb.

“Bunny wants to help out.”