Dunbar Memorial Garden

The original plans for the garden called for three 25' square beds but along the way they kind of merged into the pattern of a three leaf clover or as one of the kids said upon viewing it from up high "a big heart" - or as Jesse's dad likes to call it "a tree of life."

I don't suppose it matters much what it looks like to others. It has been a teaching, training, learning, dissecting, relearning, defined and then redefined place to simply pour out work, sweat, blood and tears.

The day we marked the beds - with cans of orange spray paint and Hannah there ready to make sure it was fun, I can say without fear of anyone else's judgment that I cried. It was marking a space in memory of kids who should still be here. There was nothing happy about that for me.

But magically it all started falling into the place it needed to be. Ideas were bantered, many were consulted. I recall this haze of meetings and gatherings and people hugging me, a million email exchanges and new friends who became more steadfast than those I'd assumed would always be there but ultimately weren't. There, everywhere were young people. The "young people" - they were and continue to be the heart and soul behind everything we do because without them we would not "be" at all and nothing at the garden would have ever materialized.

While we waited for planting season, we created pathways. We spread grass seed. We sanded and painted old worn-out picnic tables. We designed stencils then cut them and decorated the tables. We filled every Saturday with "something else" - some other idea someone else sprouted. We laughed and joked and fumbled and yelled but every single day was another miracle.

I remember a summer Saturday when some kind of testing was being held at Dunbar. The cafeteria was filled with students and sharp pencils. Jesse's dad had the acumen to move our work further away from the glass windows to try to prevent any disruption. We toiled outside while the kids did inside and more then a few jokes were made among us about those poor kids trapped inside while the sun shined and we were soaking up the rays.

I remember the very first day (7/7/07) when we had coverage from the local newspaper, when we were amazed to see 30 plus people gathered ready to get down to building a garden. I remember Katherine and Carol and Matt - all parents who had lost a child. I remember the clearness of the air, the too-perfect blue sky, and the earth moving. Most of all I remember the simple fact that so many had risen so early to be a part of something that was the result of such sorrow. What I remember most is that every one there was a part of "not forgetting."

That's all we want - for people to remember, not always in tears but forever in love.