Memorial Day, a time to remember not just the names—but the lives, the love, and the sacrifice behind them. Never forget.

Now, in this alley with danger at every corner, she thought about those thistles. She thought about how even beauty could come wrapped in protection. Maybe people were the same. Maybe her father’s harsh words were his thorns—meant not to destroy, but to protect.

Her grief was deep, but not silent. She moved through the garden, each step heavy, each breath a mix of sorrow…

This uncommon iris. It’s beautiful. Unique. Stands out in a group of irises that all look the same. It was transformed from the inside out. It tells a story about grace.

“Hope, like the daffodils, is always ready to return. You just have to believe it will.” I whispered the words in the silence,…