It’s a prominent place I pass multiple times a day whether I’m walking the dog or just wandering in my gardens, alone with my thoughts.
The flowers on this plant are the perfect shade of pink, and the cascades of blossoms produced from June to November lift me with their beauty. I can’t help but think of my mother each time I see it, rendering it a sort of touchstone, really, to someone so far from my reach.
Because it is so special, I was brokenhearted last summer when my rose began to die, as first its leaves fell off, and then the flowers just stopped coming. I turned the soil over and over, and pulled weeds from the base as soon as they appeared, thinking maybe that was the key.
When I saw that it wasn’t, I resorted to a mega dose of Miracle Grow, even though my yard work is organic. Something had to bring this beauty back. I was depending on it.
Well, needless to say, nothing worked. And last weekend, as I walked by the dead plant for the thousandth time this spring, I decided it was time to give in. I found my rose clippers and cut the dead branches off one by one, carefully avoiding thorns, until all that was left was a small stalk with two maroon and green leaves near the roots.
I left it there, just unable to pull the rose up completely if there might be hope. I decided to wait – and see.
Since then, it has rained and rained in this soggy corner near Cape Cod and I have slogged blindly by that part of the yard without paying much attention, if any. Until today, when the skies cleared, and I saw that the stalk had grown, and sprouted leaves. And from that has come one miraculous pink bud about to bloom, and six small others.
I’m telling this story, because I realized this morning that this saga with the rose is a mirror of my life right now as I work to get past what no longer flourishes and focus on the possibility in the things that do.
Trust has played a big role in all this, bringing to mind a line I read recently that said sometimes the only mode of transportation available to you in life is to take a leap of faith.
If that’s the case, judging from my rose, I know I am ready to jump, more secure all the time in the belief that – like these tender new buds — something beautiful is ready to bloom.