Finding Life in the Dead Rose Bush

            I have two rose bushes, one of which received attention last year, needs more this year, and can be saved.  The other I had not yet attended to before I lost the use of my hands in August.  I have my hands back, but only after months of healing and therapy.  For that story, see “Letting Go, Part 1.” 

            This spring, my second rose bush spoke the message of its neglect.  The lost treasure was now overcome with a great many dead branches protruding through a mass of weeds, four feet high, towering over a plant that had previously produced a burst glorious magenta, rich blossoms of roses abounding with life.  None were now to be seen through a corpse covered over with weeds of various sorts and crabgrasses a foot above the branches.

I have no "Before" photo of the rose bush with its towering weeds, but they looked like these.

And here the weeds and dead branches now.

 

            Expecting the need for a landscaper to come in with some equipment to haul off my dead bush, I spent this spring attending to other parts of my yard.  Finally, last week, I skeptically wondered whether my dead bush could be saved.  If nothing else, I could reduce the cost for someone to come in and haul it away by minimizing its size.  

With a deep breath and determination, I met my former treasure, the current adversary I had created, and I began weeding around the bush, through it, and clipping dead branches.  It’s delicate work because even the dead branches have thorns, pricks screaming at me for what my neglect had done to their source of life. 

To my astonishment, as I pulled the weeds and clipped the dead branches, little signs of life – small, tender branches with green leaves on them – came into view.  These brave little babies poked through, trying to survive beneath their oppressors and crying for help. 

Now my work became even more delicate.  I had been its careless killer, and now I vowed to be its careful savior.  I knew this remnant with life, these little, courageous branches of green, must be protected while their aggressive invaders and the corpses among them get cut out.  Slowly, carefully, patiently, I made progress to save the lives of the budding branches.  

I can save the rose bush.  I had been sure it was dead, and now, I am sure it has life.

 

Amazingly, the rose bush has life!

This process of weeding, pruning, and cutting out what’s dead mimics my life of the past three years.  During this time, I’ve lost my marriage, my career, my next job to a fire, the use of my hands, my kids off to college, and just last week, ended a temporary position.  Weeding, pruning, cutting out what’s dead.  Letting Go.  For three years, letting go of what has lost life has marked my life, and now it is time to find life in death.  My rose bush tells me I can.  Surprising life buds in what has died. 

This morning, as I shared the story of my rose bush, a friend spoke what many have said to me in these past few years.  “For all you’ve been through, I admire you and honor you.  I would have been crushed to lose so much so quick.” 

“I don’t think I would have made it had I not seen little signs of life, like those promising branches of life,” I replied.  “Surprising, little buds of life that I would not have expected to be there, kept showing themselves to me, keeping me going, giving me hope, helping me to never give up.” 

There is Life in death.  Now, after years of letting go, I am sure of that too.  Let go, and watch the surprising blossoms shoot into Life.

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