[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.
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