At peace with himself. The only time Hutch could recall Thomas Hardin at peace with himself was after he had downed a six-pack while watching a game. How many times had he spoken the words, “Dad, there’s a cure for alcoholism now. You don’t have to live this way anymore.” But his father wasn’t interested. “I’m not going to let some idiot doctor fool with my genes,” he’d reply. Alcohol was one of two pleasures in his life.

“He was a faithful contributor to the Humane Society, a lover of dogs, and an active participant in the Brownwood Gardening Society. He constructed his own greenhouse in his backyard, a real one, mind you, not a VR one”—there was laughter among the attendees—“in which he grew a wide variety of flowers not native to this area of Texas. His greenhouse was a favorite stop on the annual gardening tour of Brownwood.”

His other pleasure was flowers. From Hutch’s earliest memories, his father had tended his flowers. Now his casket was surrounded by those very flowers. How could a man of such ugliness bring forth—and appreciate—such beauty? Hutch didn’t know. We are all mixtures of beauty and ugliness, he supposed.

“Just as the annuals in his greenhouse lasted only a year before more seeds were planted and new flowers bloomed, so also we last only a certain time in this state that we call our lives. Then we return to the elements and make room for the lives of those who come after us. And though we miss Thomas Hardin, we have gained through him so much more than we have lost. To him and to the cosmos from which he sprang, we dedicate this time of remembrance and celebration.”

Several friends and relatives stood in turn and recounted fond memories of Thomas. A woman from the gardening society read a poem about the sacred ritual of life. Then an eleven-year-old boy, one of Thomas’s great-nephews, walked to the front. He read from an electronic pad.

“I’ll miss Uncle Thomas because, of all the grownups in my life, I could count on him to just hang around and teach me what he knew. He taught me a lot about plants. He helped me start a garden at home, and when I grow up, I’d like to have a greenhouse like he did. He took me to baseball games and taught me strategy. He used to tell me about wars and presidents and old cars. I could have gotten all that stuff from the Grid, but listening to Uncle Thomas tell me was a lot better.”