It's back, that one pink rose.
I will say, though I'm feeling it keenly at the moment, the missing has diminished, well, had diminished. Not so much so that I can fold it up and put it away in my pocket, but not pushing me down, to the extent that it feels like slogging through the muck that is sucking on my shoes.
In a way, I've looked forward to today, until last week anyhow, as all the grieving literature says how much better things are after a year. For me, I turned a corner after her August birthday, thank the Lord!
Till that point it had been a way long year. It seems all these memories pushing and shoving to surface since Halloween, have taken me a step back.
How do you mark a year? I don't know. It feels like I should do something. Does going out at sixish in the dark, with a lantern that was likely shining through my night shirt, creating what I'm sure was a ghostly (um, ghastly) image, enough to terrify any neighbor, to shoot this rose count?
I couldn't believe it came back, in November, one single rose again, on a dormant rose bush. I don't know why, but it makes me smile and cry.