My husband planted our garden in the summer of 1997. For 14 years, I cared for it exactly as he had designed it. Then one afternoon, a young neighbor drove his motorcycle across it and crushed the flowers he had planted for me. My husband, Roy, had died in 2011. Every spring since then, I planted red and yellow flowers—the colors he always brought me on our anniversary. To everyone else, it was simply a flower bed. To me, it was a piece of our marriage. So when 22-year-old Kyle Hauser tore through it with his motorcycle, I was devastated. When I told him those flowers were for my late husband, he simply shrugged and said, “It’s just grass and flowers. They’ll grow back.” … CONTINUE READING
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