The Rose

For my first Mother's Day in 2007, my mother bought me a rose bush. It was not in bloom and had no name.  When the first bloom came, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of each flower. The petals were pink, orange, and yellow in the center; the scent, strong; and the flowers lasted for weeks on the bush. It has always been strong, beautiful, and enduring. It blooms rain or shine. It's been a model for how I want to be - long-lasting and resilient even in the least favorable conditions.

Part of the reason the flower itself is so meaningful goes all the way back to my Aunt Joyce, who died in 1979 of sclerosis of the liver following a decade-long battle with alcoholism. Her favorite song was The Rose by Bette Midler. And no one in the family can hear the song - even now, more than 30 years later, without bursting into tears. I named my daughter Zoe Rose for three reasons: 1) my grandmother's middle name was Roselle, so it's a partial tribute to her; 2) my mentor's name is Rose and she has shaped my life in myriad ways that are honored by the name; and 3) because of the song, because my Aunt fought as long and as hard as she could, and because there's a warrior spirit in the women on my side that I wanted to codify with a name. Rose. It's strong, sweet, and sharp. With all the women in my family, you have to watch out for the thorns.

So as we prepare to leave San Diego on January 11 ( ONE WEEK from now) I am conflicted about my rose bush. Do I leave it here? Do I try to dig it up and take it with me? And then I realized the medicine in my entire dilemma: It is time to let go. Of it all. Even my rose bush, which has lent me so many blooms and happy moments over the 5 years it's been with me. It wants to stay here and perfume the yard for the next owner, who is a sweet woman. It wants to stay goodbye to me. If only I will listen.

Rose bushes die back in January as a matter of course and have to be pruned down. Today, before I pruned it, I took the final buds off the bush and left the same number of quartz crystals at its base. A small gesture of profound thanks for these final gifts. I took all the petals down and gathered the sage I picked with my family in the local desert yesterday. I prayed and meditated and focused on enjoying this last bundle-wrapping session in San Diego. I shared a picture with my SouLodge sisters on Facebook who have so kindly been helping me with this transition.

And then I got to work. For more than an hour I wrapped, and cried, and laughed, and sat with memories of people and places and things I will miss about this beautiful city. I said goodbye slowly and graciously. Each moment and thought felt like a warm hug as people's energy moved into and out of the space. The time passed in an instant. When I came back to my own consciousness I looked down to see I was wrapping the last piece of sage, the last petals - I used every piece of plant material I had gathered so carefully and attentively. And I must say ... I think these are the most beautiful bundles I've ever wrapped. Some of them are a foot long and several inches in diameter. Here's a glimpse of the first batch.

It was a beautiful morning for me, filled with memories and gratitude and creativity and most of all, intense healing that I send to each of you who read this, too, with much love from my heart to yours.