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Send essays by email: talking@dispatch.com I cut them if they were getting too long, and sometimes painted them. It was a small gesture to bring a little normalcy to her.

While she was in a rehab center for three months, one of us stayed with her round-the-clock. After the first month, this schedule became more difficult, and we hired caregivers to come to the nursing home to be with her. The center staff was spread thin, and we had always promised her that we would not “put” her in a nursing home. We feared if she were left alone, she might have another stroke, so we did what we promised: We stayed with her until we could prepare her house, find additional caregivers and take her home.

It was grueling watching her become totally dependent for every necessity.

Mom, who would have turned 95 on Monday, lived almost a year after she had the stroke. It was a long and difficult time for all of us. We miss her, and we think of her every day.

As warm weather and planting season approach this spring, I am reminded of my youth and gardening. I most assuredly will be thinking of her every time I am working in my garden.

Last year, when I pulled weeds out of my garden, my nails were caked with all the dirt. I really could have used a nail brush. Maybe this year, I will buy one.