I never thought a simple rose plant could mean so much, but it turned into a love story I’ll never forget.
Before my mom passed away, she asked my dad to take care of her favorite rose plant. It was just a small bush in an old clay pot, nothing fancy, but it meant the world to her.
After she was gone, my dad treated that plant like it was a piece of her. He watered it every morning, moved it to follow the sun, and even made space for it in the car when we changed houses.
One morning, while he was wiping dirt off the pot and trimming the leaves, he suddenly went quiet. He called me over and pointed to something on the side.
Scratched faintly into the clay were two tiny initials, his and my mom’s. They had carved them there back when they first started dating. My dad had no idea she had held on to that same pot all these years.
He sat there staring at it, tears running down his face. He thought he had just been keeping her plant alive, but in reality, he’d been holding on to their love story the whole time.
Now, every time I see that rose, I remember how love can live on in the quietest, most unexpected ways.
