When I was very young, my family moved from Illinois to Missouri. At the new house, my father promptly planted a row of roses along the back edge of the patio for my mother. Mom wasn’t a big gardener. I’m not sure how much time she or Dad spent tending her roses, but every summer, they bloomed.
My husband and I recently bought a home in Timaru, New Zealand. It’s our fourth house, although we haven’t owned one since leaving the US in 2015. Buying a home here has been our dream for nearly a decade, so of course we’re floating on a cloud of joy now that we;re home owners—but for me, it’s not just the house that’s making me happy. It’s the roses.
City of Roses
I can’t smell a rose without thinking of my mom, and Timaru is teeming with them. We just happened to drive past this gorgeous “Rose Cottage” while running errands this morning.
In five minutes, I can walk from our front door to a gorgeous rose garden in Caroline Bay, a beautiful city park.
Last weekend, a rose festival kicked off the summer season. (New Zealand is in the southern hemisphere, so summer begins in December.) And there are roses casually strewn about everywhere, decorating the lawns and gardens of nearly every house.
A Woman Who Prays
Dec 7 was my mom’s birthday. She passed away a few years ago. Some people say that grieving hearts heal over time, but I’m not sure that’s true. It’s more like grief changes you. You learn to function in spite of it.
My mother never stopped praying, and I know she had a hand in guiding me and Fred to Timaru, city of roses. Strangely, our new house—which has plenty of other flowers—had nary a rose. We fixed that today. We bought this rose and planted it for my mom, Marianne.
She is everywhere here, all around me, in every rose.
I feel closer now to my mother than ever—despite the grief and loss, which are still there, and always will be. I’m very, very grateful for our new home, and for the roses,
illustories 