It's now been seven months since his passing and with Christmas approaching, I can't help but think of him. At a recent trip to my grandmother's home, she shared something very special with me. She shared a story about a dandelion and how to the woman in the story, a dandelion was just dandy. My grandma went on to tell me about how she never liked cut flowers and told my grandpa to never give her any because they'd just die. How she'd much rather see roses in her garden than on her table. So with the exception of the occasional Mother's Day corsage, he never bought her any flowers. But each spring, when the grass was new and green, and the chill of winter was gone, my grandpa always brought her in a dandelion from the yard. As my grandmother's voice got shaky and tears streamed down her face, she told me how much she was going to miss that and I could feel her heartbreak as we stood in her now half empty bedroom.
It wasn't a daisy a day for my grandma, it was a dandelion every spring. So when this upcoming spring blossoms and those little yellow bursts of sunshine seemingly explode out of the lawn, I hope one makes it to my grandmother's table. There are many things in this life that remind me of my grandpa, and there are many things that will always be special because of my grandma, but the dandelion will now always be a shining example to me, of their love for one another. I pray to one day have a love like theirs. Simple, vibrant, resilient year after year, fruitful, have roots that grow deep, and is strong, no matter where planted.