A matter of life and death

Somewhere between bud and full-bloom, the rose died and dried. Rare are the ones that open fully before the petals begin to wilt. But I wanted this rose to be the most beautiful I'd ever seen. I wish it had lived lived longer. The same is true of my mother, from whose casket the flower came. Did she fully bloom or did the thorns of her life prematurely puncture her dreams? In recent days, my thoughts have turned to her and the life she lived. While tending to the flower arrangements that came after she died, I realized there can be beauty in death. Sure, decaying leaves and stems of once brilliant bouquets can stink and cloud the water. But other flowers barely wither before they die. While my rose lost its color, it kept the shape of a much younger bloom. It's frozen in time with an essence of eternal youth. The photographs I've discovered of my mother in younger days do the same for her. While my impromptu tears still surprise me, there's a deep comfort in knowing my mother died peacefully. There's true beauty in that - and the timeless rose beside her portrait.
— Liz Fabian