Part 3: The Garden List

Alice asked Daniel to bring a notebook from her house. It contained lists of plants, books she had lent, and tasks she wanted completed before the season changed. She did not want us to treat the notebook as a set of commands. She wanted to decide which items still mattered to her.

We sat together while she reviewed the pages. She crossed out a plan to repaint the garden gate. She circled the name of a neighbor who had borrowed a book and asked Daniel to send her a message saying there was no hurry to return it.

She also asked me to visit the garden with Daniel and tell her what was flowering. I checked with him first. He said he would like company but needed to be back at the hospital by a certain time. We agreed to keep the visit short.

The garden was smaller than I expected. A yellow rose grew beside a bench, and a row of herbs stood in pots near the kitchen door. Daniel showed me where Alice had marked each plant with a small wooden label.

“Mom made me promise not to call the herbs weeds,” he said.

“Did you?”

“Only once.”

We took photographs of the roses and the herb pots. Daniel asked whether I wanted a copy. I said yes, and we agreed not to share the pictures beyond the people Alice had named.

On the way back, he asked what I remembered about his mother from school. I told him about the day she organized a class trip after the teacher's car broke down. She had made a list of who could offer a ride and checked that every student had a seat.

“She still made lists,” he said. “Even when I told her I could remember.”

“Did you?”

“Usually not.”

At the hospital, Alice looked at the photographs and corrected our description of the herbs. She asked Daniel to thank the neighbor who had watered them. Then she closed her eyes for a few minutes while we sat quietly.

Later, she asked me to open the notebook to a page marked with blue paper. It contained a list of people she wanted to contact. Some names had check marks; others had question marks. She asked me to call one old friend and ask whether she would like to visit.

“I don't want her to feel obliged,” Alice said. “Tell her she can say no.”

The friend chose to come the next day. Alice asked me to give them time alone. I sat in the waiting area and read a magazine about gardens. When the friend left, she told me Alice had reminded her of a trip they took after college, a part of Alice's life I had never heard about.

I understood then how easy it would be to tell our story as if the decades apart were an empty space. They were not empty. Alice had friendships, work, and choices that mattered independently of our reunion.

That evening Daniel asked whether I would help him make a list of questions for the care team. He wanted to understand what support was available for Alice and for the people caring about her. We wrote down the questions and left room for the answers. The team explained the options the next morning, and Alice chose which ones she wanted to use.