The Rose

Near the time we moved into our house almost four years ago, Tung and I took a trip to Half Moon Bay. On the way home, we visited a nursery, where I found this beautiful "Dream Come True" rose bush, with soft pink petals slightly blushing white, and a golden center like the sun. I bought it with the last cash I had in my wallet that day, sat with it wedged between my feet for the ride home, and planted it in my garden that week.

It died.

Most of you think I have a green thumb because of all my fruit trees and flowers, but back before my gardening skills were properly honed, I was pretty devastated.

Without saying much about it, Tung then put another rose in its place, a scrawny stalk of a thing that mostly looked like a weed for the last four years. He braced it against a wood stick. He watered it often.

Today is the first day it bloomed.

In life, there are immediate solutions, and then there are long-term labors of love and patience. I'll bet sometimes he thinks I forgot about it. But I recall my "Dream Come True" rose. I peek out to my garden at his rose replacement every morning after he has left me for work and I am alone. I remember the little, unspoken things that he did--still does--for me.

And if our future children ask me, this is one of the ways in which I will attempt to explain love.