It is one year ago today that my mother died. I expected this to be a difficult spring, and it has been, though not always in the ways I anticipated.
Grief is sneaky, and personal, and cares very little about whether it’s a good time to show up or not. Quite rude, really.
I went out today to check on the rose bush some friends sent me as a memorial. (You will please ignore the weeds as a favor to me. Ta ever so.)
It isn’t blooming, yet. But the leaves are healthy. There is life, and there is promise.
And that’s enough.