My roses may be gone, but the joy they gave me is rooted too deeply to be pulled out.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to all of our roses.

They fell victim to a disease called Rose Rosette Disease, and there was no saving them.

If you would like to read more about it, here is a link, https://www.provenwinners.com/learn/pest-management/what-rose-rosette-disease?

If you've followed me for a while, you know these weren't "just" rose bushes.

They had become part of my daily life. Over the years, they greeted me every morning, rewarded me with beautiful blooms, and reminded me to slow down and notice the little things.

When our children left home and we became empty nesters, I found myself caring for these roses with even greater affection. They became my babies in a different season of life. I celebrated every new bud, photographed every bloom, and found comfort in their quiet, faithful presence.

So yes, my heart is heavy today.

The flowers were never the only gift. They taught me to notice, to wait, to hope, and to celebrate small miracles. No disease can take those lessons away.

But gardening, much like life, teaches us that endings are not the whole story.

Sometimes, despite all the love, care, and attention we give, things are still beyond our control. We grieve what we've lost, clear away what can no longer be saved, and somehow find the courage to begin again.

There will be an empty space in my garden for a while, and perhaps an even emptier space in my heart.

But I also know this: there will be a tomorrow.

The garden that taught me so much about blooming has now taught me something about letting go.

One day, new plants will find their home there. New buds will bloom. New memories will grow where old ones once flourished.

For now, I'm allowing myself to be sad.

And then, when I'm ready, I'll plant hope again.

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is believe that after every loss, life still has another season waiting for us.

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