I’ve just heard that my GrandmaB–my last living grandparent–is ailing and may not live much longer…
The yard around her home was full of rosebushes and she knew each of them by name and could tell you just where she acquired them (many were gifts from family). While we lived near her, she would let me cut large bouquets of roses to brighten up our humble apartment.
It was she who got me so excited about the fragrances and textures of roses. If I had a time machine I’d love to turn back the dial and stroll through her yard with her again one last time…and hear her stories of flowers.
Pic taken in May last year. My rose arch is just on the verge of being so spectacular again…
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My grandmother loved roses and to garden. She knew how to make a start take hold. I can still remember how her rose garden smelled, and the taste of raspberries from her patch.
She passed away just before I went to college, so she’s not around now that I have a garden of my own. I’m sure she could have taught me how to care for my roses well. Even though she’s not around in the body, I still think about her when I’m gardening.
Yes, it is an awful and magnificent thing to look back over the lives of those from whom our passions grow. I promise you will still hear her voice.