For five years, I grieved the loss of my wife. One day, I told my daughter, Eliza, “I’ll go to the cemetery.” She nodded, simply replying, “Okay, Dad.”
At the cemetery, I placed a bouquet of her favorite flowers by her grave. Staring at her etched face, I whispered, “I love you.” But when I returned home, I froze. The same bouquet was on our kitchen table.
“Where did these roses come from?” I muttered, panic tightening my chest. “ELIZA!” She came out of her room, startled.
“Dad? What’s wrong?” I pointed at the vase. “I TOOK THESE TO YOUR MOTHER’S GRAVE THIS MORNING!” Her eyes widened. “Dad, I can explain,” she said hesitantly.
She shared a startling revelation. “Mom came to me in a dream last night. She told me to buy these flowers. She wanted us to know she’s still watching over us.” Her voice trembled but was filled with conviction.
The tension in my chest eased as wonder replaced fear. “She came to you in a dream?” I asked, hope flickering. Eliza nodded. “She’s proud of us, Dad. She wanted us to remember her love is still with us.”
Looking at the vibrant roses, I felt a profound peace. Perhaps love truly transcends life and death, guiding us even in absence. That evening, the flowers symbolized not just memory but enduring connection.
