It was a terribly humid afternoon for planting, but Remy wasn't about to let that get in his way. The hospital had been planning this memorial garden revival project for months now and half of the list had bailed on the first sign of hot weather, so it felt like more a duty than a commitment at this point. He'd been among the first to arrive this morning and the first one to start digging, and he wanted to make sure that he'd be the very last one to take a break. After all, how else would he make sure that what everyone else planted had been done correctly? There'd be no room for mistakes with a project as big as this.

He set his trowel aside and wiped his brow with the side of his hand, before pausing to admire the row of phlox he'd just finished with a smile. It had come along just as he'd hoped. Alternating shades of pink and purple, all aligned in a perfect little row. He had to admire his expertise in this and had no doubt that someone would feel comforted by their presence. After all, that was the aim of this entire project. This memorial garden had needed some desperate love and care for some time. No one wanted to see poorly pruned bushes and dying hydrangeas while they were mourning the loss of their loved ones. It was supposed to be a sanctuary away from death, where the beauty of life could be seen as it was meant to be. Blossoming, fragrant, and full of color.

"Where should we put this statue, Rem?"

He lifted his head and squinted past the streaks of sunshine to see a pair of his fellow volunteers behind him holding a heavy looking cherub statue. A local marble shop had donated several of them to help decorate the garden, but he'd never really taken a liking to them. Still, he respected those who did and hummed.

"I suppose he could go by the pond?" He replied, using his head to motion in that direction. "Be mindful of the benches and daisies that will be going there later on, though. Make sure they'll have enough space to grow."

He waited for his partners to nod in agreement before rolling his shoulders and yawning. God, how could he be so tired already? It felt like he'd only just started planting an hour ago. Perhaps a quick walk around the garden would help liven him up again? He took a breath, pushed himself to his feet, and wandered off in no particular direction.

The garden seemed to be coming along nicely. He was thankful for the competence of the few people who'd come to join him today. He did have a few minor critiques about the placement of the various trellises and plant choices for the hanging baskets that were dangling off the archway that led to the exit of the garden, but he supposed that those could be easily changed with the seasons. Besides all of that, he could reasonably say that they'd done a great job. Yes, they still had a few more hours of planting and decorating to do, but as long as the work continued with this quality of care, he could remain pleased.

He paused to smell a gardenia blossom as he went along his way and, after letting himself linger on it a moment, found himself looking upwards at the side of the hospital before him. ... How long had it been since the accident, again? Five years? Almost six years now? He took another slow breath in through his nose and sighed. ... Try as he may, he still couldn't remember a thing about that day. His sister, Edith, had been there when he'd woken up in that hospital bed all those years ago and tried her best to explain what had happened... But none of it ever clicked. Yes, it was quite normal to forget the details of a car accident after the fact, espescially if he'd been knocked around as hard as he had been, but not to remember after several years? It seemed so abnormal to him.

Not to mention his mother. He'd seen so many pictures of her. Pictures where she was holding him, loving him, kissing him on the forehead... How could he not remember anything about her? Sylvia Macedonia was no one but a name to him, not a person he felt he could connect to. It drew such negative feelings up from within him that he'd do everything in his power to ignore them. What son, espescially one so beloved and cared for, couldn't remember his own mother?

He leaned against the wall, furrowing his brow, and breathed. It was probably for the best that he stopped trying to. It only brought him grief and it interfered with his life. Still, this feeling nagged him, and very few things ever did. It was like an old childhood fear or some kind of buried instinct. Her voice, her face, just... Her. Who was she? Why didn't she feel real to him? Why couldn't he remember her? He moved a hand to his head to cover his eyes.

"Oi, Remy! Where you at?" A volunteer called. He must've wandered out of sight for too long. Whoops.

"Taking a look at the gardenias!" He answered, wiping his face with his opposite hand. Ugh, good thing sweat and tears mimicked one another, otherwise he might have to face an awkward discussion. He wanted to do everything in his power to avoid that. "Is something wrong?"

"Nah, man, the deli brought us free subs and drinks to thank us! Come get some!"

"Alright! Be there in a moment!" Remy replied.

While he wasn't terribly hungry, a cold drink would certainly get his mind off of his thoughts. He stepped away from the wall, stretched, and walked a few feet away, before finding himself looking back up at the hospital. ... Perhaps one day he'd wake up and remember her, and perhaps he'd live the rest of his life without a single memory of her ever surfacing again. Was it really worth it to continue to dwell on the subject any more than that? He adjusted his shirt, tugged his hair tie back into place, and marched his way forward to rejoin the others.

If there was one thing that was certain, it was that, like this beautiful garden, only time, patience, and dedicated perseverance, could anything be made possible. And If this place could help heal the hearts of those who have lost and still remember, why couldn't it help him heal just a little bit as well?

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