It was a very unusual gift for a high school graduation. Somehow it was also very fitting and very cherished. Maybe because of who it was from or maybe it was due to the significance that was not yet known.

I had always been very close to my grandmother, Granny as I always called her. She lived with us and would babysit me while Mom and Dad worked when I was little. A close bond was formed then and grew as I got older.

I got my middle name, Rose, from her adoptive family. Roses had always been a favorite of both of ours, so in a way her graduation gift to me was perfect. A beautiful pink rosebush.

We planted it outside my bedroom window. I spent many days watching and waiting for that first bloom. When it finally happened, its deep pink blooms were breath-taking.

For the next three years Granny and I tended the little bush faithfully. Showing it as much love and care as the enjoyment and peace it gave us.

In 1987, I got married and moved into my own home. The thought of leaving my rose bush was like leaving a part of me. So, after some thought, Granny and I decided to transplant it to my new house. With my rose bush there it would be like having Granny there too.

I knew I was taking a chance by moving it, but I just couldn't leave it behind. Once again I planted it where I could see it from my bedroom. It was also a place where it was the first thing I saw when I walked out my front door.

As I waited, more anxious than patient for it to bloom, my thoughts would frequently go to times Granny and I had shared together. More importantly, how supportive she had always been. How no matter how hard things were for me she was always there.

All through that first summer I watched and waited. Nothing. As fall came and went I had come to the conclusion my little rose bush wasn't going to bloom.

Living in Virginia, some years snows came earlier than others. That year we had our first snow in November. I was walking out my front door and just as always I looked at my rose bush. I can't even begin to express the shock when I saw that single pink bloom, which stood out even brighter against the white background.
I immediately called Granny.

Following that first year that little pink bush seemed to serve as a source of strength. Whenever things would be bad in my life there would be a single bloom. Never any more. It would always bloom after the first snow no matter when that was. One year it was in February.

In June of 1999, there was the most beautiful bloom I had ever seen. I thought about cutting it and taking it to Granny but something told me not to.

On June 29, 1999 Granny passed away. When I came home I went straight to my rose bush wanting desperately to have that one living link. My heart was only to be broken again. When I looked at the bloom that had been so full the day before it was now dieing. In my grief I didn't give it much thought. Didn't really realize it throughout the rest of the summer that there were no more blooms.

It wasn't until the first snow that it really hit me. After the night Granny died, my little rose bush had stopped blooming. That June was the last time it ever bloomed. It was as if her life and the life of my rose bush were tied together. But like my memory of my rose bush, my memories of her will last a lifetime.

Learn more about this author, Jenifer Ramirez.
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