My mother’s garden

My mom passed away last year, two days before my birthday and two weeks before I went in for major surgery. I haven’t been able to find the energy to put towards a memorial for her during my recovery so I thought today would be perfect.

Barbara Knight passed away on Feb 2, 2022. She had Covid, battled late stage cancer and was also inflicted with debilitating dementia. The last couple years were very hard on her and my family as we tried to make her life as comfortable as possible. She left us with family around her as we expressed our love and admiration. I was not there, but I was fortunate to get on the phone with her, minutes before she passed. She waited for me to say goodbye, it was one of the most important moments in my life.

Barbara had six children with my father, Donald Knight. Over the years our family has grown so large it is honestly challenging to keep track of the small army of relatives! My mother wanted nothing more than to see her family grow in this way. Motherhood was her calling in life. She left us knowing how much she was loved and I believe she felt accomplished knowing she was the original creator of this healthy and vibrant family.

We were very close and I have many memories and experiences. Growing up, we lived in the deep rural area of south east Pennsylvania. The summers were slow, hot and dripped with humidity and sweat. The air was heavy and healthy. The grove of woods behind our house was the constant chorus of nature and I remember that you could feel the air slowly moving in breath, looking for relief from the heat.

“Every summer my mom had a vegetable garden on the side of the house. It was a modest endeavor but she was proud of it.”

Every summer my mom had a vegetable garden on the side of the house. It was a modest endeavor but she was proud of it. The garden was her meditation. It was also where we shared connection. I learned the basics of gardening as we worked the tomatoes, peppers, squash and pumpkins together. Through her garden we became close. It was a simple gesture on her part that yielded fond memories. I remember both of us on our knees in the heat, the sun piercing the canopy created by the trees all around us. We cultivated the deep brown earth, checked the health of the plants and picked luscious, vine ripe tomatoes. The peppers were my favorite. We would harvest fresh Jalapeños, grill cheap steaks and then have pepper eating contests. We’d sit in the kitchen, painted in vibrant yellow and filled with flowers that matched my mothers love for lively decor. We’d cut the peppers and place them on the steak and take bite after bite to see who could eat the entire pepper. We would sit quietly, chewing and watching the sweat bead on our brows only to have the silence pierced by laughter and wonder of the sensation of the heat on our palette. It was a plain but important moment together. This was our time. We had many opportunities to share experiences with the rest of the family, but these moments were ours.

30 years later, my mom was living alone in the house my father built for her in Idaho. She continued her tradition and always had a thriving garden. As an adult we would share in this same ritual that started when I was a kid. Again, sitting in her kitchen filled with flowers and color, just the two of us, sharing a pepper and a moment. Thinking about it now, it was perfect. A ritual shared with my mom across decades. She loved sharing her garden with me and I enjoyed sharing my life with her. I loved her very much.

Thank you mom, you are truly missed. We love you and celebrate you and all mothers on this day. I know you are looking on along with dad and I know you are proud of your family and the life you gave to all of us.