The Last Rose of Summer
I do not have green fingers, most of the plants in my house or garden die and only the hardy survive.
I'd love to have a garden profuse with plants and flowers but alas only ivy and a large bamboo have survived my tender loving care, but there is one that we forget about because its so small we don't really notice it.
My friend gave me a rose bush as part of my 40th birthday present which was sixteen years ago you'll be shocked to hear. I planted it against the fence under some ivy and left it, and in spite of my non- green fingers we had a lot of roses that first year which was also the year I lost my father.
Just a month after my birthday he became ill and spent the last week of his life in a hospice, a few days before he passed as August gave way to September I looked out into the garden at my rose bush, there was one rose left, it was perfect, and knowing my dad loved gardens and flowers I cut the rose wrapped the stem in tinfoil and took it to him in the hospice.
My father was not a demonstrative man which made it hard to speak to him about love or anything like that so I thought the rose would say that for me but fate intervened and when we got there he had slipped into a coma and he passed away a few days later.
I placed the rose at his bedside and told him I had brought him the last rose of summer from my garden.
That was fourteen years ago, the ivy has taken over the fence and I still can't grow any flowers. The rose bush hasn't grown much, it hides under the ivy and every year since my dad died, in the last days of August or beginning of September only one rose blooms on that very small bush and every year when I see it peeking out from under the ivy I know that my father did see the rose at his bedside and knew its meaning and every year he sends one back to me.
Eleven months after writing this I added this postscript.
The ivy on the fence has been removed and the fence replaced as it came down in the terrible rain and gales we had. The rose bush was cut back to nothing and I forgot about it. Today I noticed it had grown and bloomed again with the usual one tall rose, but beside it was another much smaller one. This has never happened in fifteen years. The gardeners amongst you will probably say it's not being choked by the ivy anymore and it has more light.
I always said my father sends the rose to me each year and my first thought is he is sending the second one to my new granddaughter born one week ago, the great granddaughter he never got to see and would have loved immensely.
A romantic notion? Or a symbol from a loved one? I'll never know but I like to think its the latter.
|Not quite in full bloom yet. One for me and one for Abigail.|
|And in bloom.|
My new addition to the story of my rose bush started of being a sad one. My husband was using his new petrol strimmer and was rather carried away by it's power and cut my rose bush (again) to nothing. As this was only a few months ago I despaired that there would be no roses from my father this year, it just wasn't possible for it to grow so quickly. Well we should never underestimate the power of mother nature and other things unbeknown to us because my rose bush has bloomed with not only two roses but three.
My granddaughter will be two years old on Saturday and for two years there have been two roses, and the third? We have a new baby grandchild due just before Christmas and I know it's my dad's way of sending me a sign that he knows about it. In fact they all know, all my loved ones no longer here to share the joy and happiness of my grandchildren.
|My three roses sent from dad.|
I often ask myself, what happens after you leave this earth? I have blogged about it a few times. My roses are one of the signs that gives me the hope that I crave that there is something that we don't know of yet but we will....one day.