GROWING ROSES, GROWING ME

The roses had been the first thing to go, I thought as I walked by a sidewalk florist. They used to be rich, red, loving roses. And they were regular too. He brought me roses every weekend; Friday to be precise. It had become a beautiful ritual. The roses had ushered in our weekends.

When his attention and interest had begun to wane and wander, its the roses that had been the first to go. Then it was his things, one by one, until finally, one day he had cleared out all his things from my flat and politely dropped mine off in a box on my doorstep.

I considered getting myself a bouquet from the sidewalk florist but then changed my mind; that would be so lame. It would not be the same as getting flowers from him. 

Though expected, a bouquet of roses from him had always made me feel cherished and remembered by him. Roses from him represented the beauty, depth and flourish of our love. It meant that he was thinking of me and wanted to do things that made me happy. I always arranged some in the living room to walk into when I got home and some by my bedside to wake up to.

Perhaps just two or three stems for my office desk then, I decided. Normally I would have gone for red stems without thinking about it. This time, I found myself reaching for some sweet pink ones that were starting to bud. I picked up some white ones too; pure, delicate ones.

I went on home, my heart still heavy but a sincere though sad smile on my face as I arranged my mix of white and pink roses in the crystal vases that had remained idle since Mark had left.

It was Friday and he would have been walking through the door with my roses, a big hug, kisses and plans for the evening. Now, I sat curled up on the coach with a glass of red wine absent-mindedly flicking through TV channels.

We would probably have headed out to dinner and stopped for drinks heading back home. Or maybe hed be tired and Id make dinner and then wed curl up on the coach and put in a DVD. Then wed have gone out on Saturday night. 

I got up to make dinner that Id be eating alone, if only to keep my mind occupied but when it was ready, I had no appetite. I fell asleep watching a movie, trying to will myself to stop thinking about Mark. 

Saturday shone nice and bright outside and I found myself at a loss as to what to do when I was done with the laundry, cleaning the house and other chores. I wandered outside and sat on the steps. Looking across the street, I noticed a woman working on her garden at the front of her house. She had gardening gloves on one hand but her other hand was bare. With the bare one, she caressed and smoothed the plants leaves and petals. 

She was tender and loving with the flowers in a way that fascinated me. I found myself crossing the street to get a closer look at what she was doing. She smiled as I hesitatingly approached her, encouraging me. She had a lovely bed of flowers, and the biggest part of it had roses. They were the ones she was so lovingly tending to.

"Do you grow flowers too?" she asked.

"No," I had to say. "I love flowers though, roses especially".

"Then you should grow some," she suggested, making it sound so simple.

"I dont know how," I had to admit.

"Nothing much to it, she said. "All they need is just lots of TLC. Then they bloom and you do too".

Her matter-of fact, simple statement about blooming touched me deep inside. I didnt understand why but suddenly I needed to start doing what she was doing.

"Can you show me?" I asked and she was only too happy to.

"First you have to decide which kind of flowers you want to grow," she said.

"Roses," I said without hesitation.

"There are different varieties of them, not only in color but species. There are wild roses, old garden and modern roses. The different kinds do well in particular areas. Wild roses do well here. And then there are different types of these roses within the main three types; there are climbing roses, there are large, ever-blooming roses and smaller ones you can plant to cover gaps".

I loved the idea of the wild roses and the ones that grew to stand tall and proud. I loved the idea of the ever-blooming ones too. I wanted to see my roses bloom untamed and without ceasing, with deep roots and unlimited heights.

"The first thing is to get the ground ready", she continued and that too resonated deep within me too. "You have to make sure that the soil is well drained and loose. You also have to make sure the spot you choose to plant in gets enough sunlight, at least six to eight hours everyday. Then you have to get the seeds or shrub for the kind of roses you want to plant, she continued. When youve done that, call me and well put them in the ground," she offered kindly.

I had been bored and idle but suddenly my mind was filled with excitement at ths thought of starting a rose garden. The front of my house was all trimmed grass. I wasted no time getting on the phone to a landscaper. It would normally have been done by appointment but I didnt mind paying extra to get him on it right away. 

He dug up and cleared the grass away, getting the soil loose and then mixing it up with compost. He then dug holes of two by two inches, all two feet apart. He said we needed to leave the ground for a few days so that the soil could blend with the compost. 

I asked him about indoor plants too, and he walked and talked me through them, and I finally settled on some, picking some for every room in the house. He mentioned herb that could do well on the kitchen window sill and I wanted to do that too. We left together when he was done and we headed for his gardening supplies shop. I choose pots for the indoor plants including small ones for the kitchen herbs. 

We also picked out the rose seeds. We bought some for smaller shrubs, others for the climbing roses and for the ones that bloomed no matter what the weather. I choose seeds for red ones, my favorite as well as white, pink, yellow and peach ones. I wanted carnations too and he showed me the seeds to pick.

Time, which had previously dragged on couldnt move fast enough. I couldnt wait for next Saturday when we would plant. It finally came and my landscaper came over. We planted, mixing in some rose fertilizer and then we watering the new plants. 

Only when we were done did I fully understand why seeing my neighbor tending to her flower garden had touched me so deeply and stirred a deep longing in me do to the same.

Putting seeds into the ground, in distances carefully measured and dug out, into soil that I had prepared with compost and rose fertilizer, I felt reborn. I was acting on faith. I had prepared the ground to receive seed with the faith that the seeds would bloom and grow to become the beautiful roses I so loved.  

I wasnt relying on someone to give me meaning or importance or value. I wasnt waiting for someone to bring me roses; I was growing my own. I was growing my own value, my own importance, my own value. I would tend to that as carefully and devotedly as I had seen my neighbor tend to her blooms and I would bloom too.

And bloom my roses and I did. As I pruned them I pruned away the fears and reservations that had held me from fully launching out in the world. I started to put myself out there, free and fearless, ready for reward either as expectations fulfilled or failure from which I learnt a lesson or two. 

As I weeded, I got rid of self-doubts and saw courage and strength and confidence come through. I regularly watered my roses and as I did so, I poured regard and respect and even admiration into myself too.

And when I stirred in herbs I had grown myself into the meals that I undertook to cook for myself, I was putting in flavor and depth and taste to who I was. My flora bloomed in the bathroom too, some sweet smelling lavender, as did the plants in my living room. I blossomed as they did, feeling fresh and new and firmly rooted in myself as they did in my home.

And when I fell in love again, it was I who took roses into his home, lovely blooms that had budded from the depth and strength in me that gardening had led me to discover. They were qualities that I knew would always be mine, just like my blooms, even when the man or other prized possessions were uprooted from my life. 

ENDS