The Heart of a Community
Growing up in Phoenix, my family’s preparation for Memorial Day followed a set routine. First, a stop at the flower stand on Indian School Road, where we’d pick up bunches of asters and other late spring blooms.
Back at home, we’d divide the flowers into coffee cans my mother had wrapped in foil before packing them into the car and heading to the cemetery.
Once there, we’d drive past row after row of headstones set in manicured, grassy lawns. Upon reaching the family plot, we would lift out the flowers and place them beside …
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