In the final decade of his life, my grandfather woke up every single day at 7AM, picked a fresh wild flower on his morning walk, and took it to my grandmother.  One morning, I decided to go with him to see her.  And as he placed the flower on her gravestone, he looked up at me and said, “I just wish I had picked her a fresh flower every morning when she was alive.  She really would have loved that.”

When I’m on the cusp of my 80’s, I don’t want to sit with regrets.  I don’t want to wish I had done things differently—especially something as simple, yet meaningful, as picking wild flowers for the love of my life.

Don’t you agree?