These roses are my mom. Summer 2014 - roses and bees Not my actual, real life mother, of course. But they are part of her. They are, in my mind, a living breathing reminder that she spent time on this earth. That she smiled. That she loved me. And that she is gone. They were her roses – one of several bushes planted in my parents’ back yard in Omaha. My dad was taking them out around 12 years ago and I carefully lugged one from Nebraska to Virginia, in the hopes that it would survive and I could plant it. It worked. And now, each spring it blossoms. This year's blooms It doesn’t make the prettiest flowers – they are a bit scrawny and don’t have many leaves. The roses do not have a scent, which always disappoints me. Then stems are short so they are hard to cut and bring indoors. And the they have some very wicked thorns – I have been cut by them many times. But for all of those shortcomings, I still look at the bush and smile every