[flickr id=”7809451492″ thumbnail=”small” overlay=”true” size=”small” group=”” align=”left”]When my grandparents were dating, my grampa would bring gramma a gardenia at every date.  She’d carefully set it in a bowl of water, wary of touching the petals so they wouldn’t brown, and keep it as long as possible.

We lost grampa over 15 years ago.  Gramma – just 2 years ago.

This year on a whim, and a deep prayer, I bought a gardenia bush to plant next to my last ‘whim’ purchase of a Rose of Sharon (that now stands 4 feet tall and blooms like mad).

I bought it to honor my grandparents, and hoped they would help ensure it bloomed.

But the drought came early. Within a week, despite watering it every evening, then every other evening as water bans started to take effect…the leaves browned.

Death took hold.

Or so I thought.

The past two weeks it has begun to rain again. Not enough to totally erase the drought – but enough to turn lawns green again. My Rose of Sharon had never stopped blooming so I never thought to check on my flower bed.

Until the other day I happened to notice some green.

Just a little.  Weeds, perhaps.

But no.

I got closer and saw the familiar waxy leaves, small but sprouting.  Where dead, brown branches reached into the air – green tips started to appear.

I doubt it will fully heal before the winter comes – but it has survived.

Delicate on the surface.

Resilient. Strong.

Like my grandparents.

Like me.

My husband.

My kids.

My family.

A gardenia.