In April of 2009, my world shattered when a distracted driver took my mom’s life. Grief hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me unable to function. I couldn’t eat, sleep or concentrate, and tears flowed daily.
That summer, my mother-in-law sent a rose tree in honor of mom. When I opened it, it looked like a twig. I had no clue how to nurture a rose tree and lacked the energy.
While my husband suggested tossing it, I was determined to try. To our astonishment, it eventually burst into a breathtaking display of blooms, gracing my life for several years. Yet, as time passed, it stopped blooming. For two long years, it grew lush green leaves but no flowers.
Then came a day when I was struggling and missing my mom. I pleaded with her to send me a sign, not specifying what it should be. I looked all day but saw nothing. When I returned home, I discovered the tree had blossomed. There it stood, with one perfect full rose and a partially opened bud. And more buds promised more blooms to come.
That was my sign. Mom knows me well – she knew I needed something undeniable, something that would hit me like a bolt of lightning. I captured the moment in a photograph and shared it on social media in 2021.I’ve made this photo my go-to for social media profiles. I’m drawn to it, though, to be honest, I had forgotten its significance when I finished the painting last week. The painting is a tribute to mom. When I scrolled through my old Instagram posts this week, I stumbled upon the original post and saw I had written: “I didn’t ask for a specific sign. But when I came home and saw her rose tree had bloomed, I knew it was her…it hasn’t bloomed in two years.”
While the pain of her absence remains indescribable, I’m grateful for the connection that endures. My mom is still with me, her presence felt in every bloom.
