Many years ago when my friend was battling lung cancer, I took her for a radiation appointment.
I reminded her about a story we'd read years before when our kids were little. Two best friends, one terminally ill, made a pact that if there was an afterlife, she would send her friend a flower in the middle of winter. It happened.
That day in the doctor's office, Rose and I made the same pact.
On the anniversary of her death, she sent me a beautiful flower, with four buds. They opened to the size of large carnations...during sub zero temperatures and a hard freeze. That story was published in Chicken Soup for the Gardener's Soul.
Every year in November around the anniversary of her death, I have received a flower.
This year with unseasonably warm temperatures, it would be easy to dismiss this tiny pink flower as a straggler. But NO, it was not there yesterday, and all of the sedum has withered and dried up.
Today, on the anniversary of my friend's death, I discovered this. I say, "Thank you, Rose. You've done it again."