Part 4: Tending the Roots
For the next three weeks, my daily routine completely transformed.
Every morning before work, I walked Lucas through the neighborhood. Every evening, I spent two hours at Don Samuel’s house. I didn’t hire a crew to chop down Sofia’s plants—instead, I picked up a pair of pruning shears myself.
I carefully trimmed back the dead, dangerous branches, cleared the tangled vines from his roof gutters, and weeded the flowerbeds that Sofia had built decades ago. I left the vibrant, living branches of the bougainvillea intact, letting them arch gracefully over the fence just as they always had.
I also sorted through his mail, helped set up a payment plan for his medical bills with a local social worker, and visited him at the rehab center every single afternoon. I brought him updates on his garden, showing him photos on my phone of the blooming flowers.
“Look at that,” he would whisper, touching the screen with a trembling finger, a faint glow returning to his face. “Sofia would have loved you.”
The day finally came for Don Samuel to be discharged. The hospital transport van dropped him off at his driveway, where he sat in a new wheelchair, looking uncertain about returning to an empty home.
I met him at the gate, holding Lucas’s leash. The dog immediately trotted over, resting his soft head on the old man’s lap, tail thumping wildly against the wheels.
Don Samuel looked around his yard. The paths were clear, the porch was swept, and Sofia’s bougainvilleas were thriving—neatly shaped, vibrant pink blossoms cascading over the wooden fence.
He looked over at my driveway. A small handful of dry, colorful petals lay scattered on the clean pavement.
