A family emergency precipitated my move back to my hometown. I hadn’t even had time to renew my high school friendships when I received a call from my hospice-volunteer coordinator. “I hope you’ve had time to get settled. I have a lady who desperately needs your help.”

I was stunned to learn that the lady was Ginny. We’d been the best of friends all through high school and college, but, except for brief notes on occasional Christmas cards, we’d lost touch over the years. We were both in tears from the moment I walked through her front door. Our first days together were flooded with the constant chatter of “remember when” flashbacks. We used to say we were closer than sisters, and we found out we still were. But she wouldn’t discuss her illness. Her life had been an artistic one, boasting many talents, but gardening had been Ginny’s main love. She was reputed to have the most imaginative garden in town.

“Working with plants and flowers is when I feel closest to God,” she admitted. “Each bloom represents a message of love from Him. It’s very powerful. I miss it so.”

During my daily visits, I’d catch Ginny staring out the window. The landscape in its winter sleep looked bleak, with any hope of spring many months away. Crocus and tulips, already planted, would never bloom in time. From Ginny’s faraway gaze, I knew she was mentally seeing her perfect garden as it once was: rare flowers meticulously planted in raised beds and winding brick paths edged with breathtaking colors. She confided, “Flowers feed my spirit.”

According to her doctor, Ginny had less than three months to live. As her hospice volunteer and friend, I wanted so to help her deal with, yet distract her from, her impending death. So I began making phone calls, contacting old friends and becoming reacquainted with Ginny’s life. On the morning my plan went into action, our conversation had been as dull and lifeless as the dreary winter day. Then a beautiful box was delivered, wrapped in extraordinary paper that shone like a burst of sunshine. I took it on to her, feigning ignorance. “Sweetheart, this just arrived. It looks interesting and valuable. Wonder what it is?”

Ginny struggled with renewed energy to sit up. Her eyes glowed as she manipulated the gold foil seal on the front of the box. “It’s from Gus, my old friend, the German nursery man. Because of him, I won the Most Beautiful Garden award in the city contest.” With a giggle, she continued. “I’ll just have to force myself to open it right away. That Gus is an absolute expert, and his timing on when to plant is always perfect.”

She eagerly opened the box and went completely quiet as she read the card. I could see the rough edges of bulbs inside the box.

“What are they?” I asked innocently.

With a rush of tears, she held the card out for me to read. Ginny, plant these daffodils immediately, and I promise you they will bloom in time. In admiration, Gus.

I remembered my initial conversation with Gus. “Bulbs will be the perfect answer. They can be forced to bloom. Nothing else can beat the clock.”

“Oh, let’s hurry and plant these today,” she said. “I have the perfect container in the loveliest color of bluish white. It was my grandmother’s.”

I had just finished planting the bulbs into the antique bowl when the doorbell rang. Ginny’s friends had followed Gus’s instructions to the letter. As each visitor arrived bearing her gift, the bedroom slowly filled with a variety of lovely vases and urns; each one labeled, perfect for the bulbs it contained, many of them already showing fresh growth and promise. The miracle of nature would allow her to watch the bulbs sprout fragile green as they warmed to the light and then slowly reveal their individual beauty in a burst of blooms! The spring blossoms would share their charm, bringing their fragrance and color back into Ginny’s darkened world. By the look on her face, I knew she felt as treasured as her gifts.

In a burst of enthusiasm, she cried, “Oh, I can’t wait until they bloom!” As she settled into her pillows, gazing around the room she whispered, “These last blooms -- they will be my most beautiful garden ever -- and I’ll feel closer than ever to God.”