A bump in my garden

My English can pass fairly well when I write little everyday things. But when I want to go a bit deeper into some unusual subject I feel like a 10-year old. Suddenly I don't know any correct words that would help me to express what I feel. Oh well... believe me - I write much better in my language :-)

I have a need to write about a short story that pops in my mind whenever I lose someone. It is from one of my all time favorite books... a little book that shows that I have held her and went through her pages many times in the last 20+ years. It is very difficult for me to translate even the title... something like "The Store of Secrets" or "The shop where you buy secrets"... It’s my best try but it doesn't sound quite right... The author is an Italian painter, poet, novelist, short story writer - Dino Buzzati. The story goes something like this:

You have a garden and you walk through it every day of your life ... After a while in that very familiar space you notice some changes. You almost trip on a bump that seems to have grown over night. Some time later another one shows. Then another. As years pass there are more and more bumps... Some are small; some are so huge that you have to climb over them. We all have a garden like that. It is in our mind (or heart) and each bump represents someone you have known and has passed on... The bumps help us remember them... And we hope that when our day comes a small bump will grow in a garden of at least one person.

So, when I woke up this morning and my husband told me that Steve Irvin died I could feel a new bump in my garden. I had a small crush on the guy and I'm very sad.