It was my mother’s birthday. October 14. I had gotten home from school and had my snack prepared. There, right in front of me, was a rose. I think it was red. I touched it. I never knew my parents to speak to one another, let alone my father getting my mother romantic gifts. But there it was. A beautiful red rose with baby breaths aesthetically arranged around it. I was glad and my heart was filled with tranquility. There was a moment that wasn’t based on silence, or screaming, or sarcasm. There was a moment based on redemption, renewal and blessings.

The rose remained on the table for the following week. It withered away without any carresses or any noticing of its beauty, of its significance.

It was then I realized…my parents were not husband and wife, nor every had the excitement and joys of lovers. They were together for me and my sister…and I was miserable for thier miserableness. I was happy they divorced the following year.

But I will always remember my initial reaction to the rose when it was first in blossom. Awe, love, brightness, tranquility. It has the potential to signify so many beautiful things…if two people experience it and believe in its power. 

Happy Month of Love!