Every day I visit my hibiscus bushes. When it’s dry, I carry water to them. Most days (if the sun has been shining) they give me lovely pink, red, and golden flowers. These I carry inside and place at the shrines of my departed parents and grandparents, mother-in-law, and great grandparents. I deposit the blossoms in vases and say words to the effect of “For you, dear Mother, with my love,” or “For you, dear ancestors, in the name of your great, great grandson,” or “For you, dearest Muffet; how I miss you.”
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