A woman full of grief comes home.
She places her diary and car keys on her table.
Her tired legs makes her way into her bedroom.
She tries to revive his dying rosebush.
It hasn’t been watered in a while.
He grew these roses, with his bare hands.
The scent of his favourite cologne, lingers in the air.
She can still feel the warmth of his hugs.
The taste of his favourite lasagne dances on her taste buds.
The echo of his commanding footsteps slowly fading in her memory
His rosebush is wilted and near death.
She remembers his last words: “Till death do us part, my love”.
Her eyes gaze over to her wedding photo:
A moment etched forever, in her heart and mind.
Photographs plastered all over her abode.
Like a shrine, it pays homage to their wedding vows,
Their future, planned within these four walls.
The walls echo with the tunes of their favourite songs.
She wishes to see her dear husband, one last time.
She lifts the rosebush and places it on her dining table.
She places her ring on the table too.
This table will be a support to the rosebush, like the rosebush is to her.
“Look at you, old friend. Your branches have bent from my heavy load of pain.
“We will not carry the pain alone”.
In the corner of her eye, new bright, green leaves appear from the dry soil.
Like this plant, She will live and love again.
She will turn over a new leaf and keep his memory alive with their rosebush.
“This rosebush will symbolise our love.”
Like this rosebush, she bears new life.
In comfort, she whispers to the plant.
“Thank you, my love. We are going to be just fine”.
As she rubs her living, breathing belly.