Back at the Prison, A Rose Will Be in Bloom

Jody knelt in the soil.

Her hands raked the earth over the roots. She moved slowly and deliberately. A careful song and dance.

A few weeks ago, Jody had asked me if we could plant a memorial to her deceased daughter. Almost a year ago to the day, her daughter had perished from a fentanyl overdose. She was only 23.  

That morning I’d wandered the garden center, looking for the perfect plant to serve as a memorial to her daughter.

I thought I would find something delicate and dainty. But the hydrangeas didn’t look healthy. The camellias were expensive.

Something caught my eye. A rose bush. Two delicate blooms were beginning to open. The best was yet to come. I bought it.

I showed the class how to transplant a plant from a pot to a garden. I dug the hole with my hands since the guards hadn’t bothered to unlock the tool shed for us.

Your hole should be as deep as the pot and twice as wide, I explained. That gives the plant plenty of room to grow. I also explained how roses should be pruned and maintained to prevent pests and diseases. They are fickle plants. Long ago I worked in a rose garden in New Zealand. I was amazed at how much I still remembered from that experience.

I told the class that this rose was for one student, Jody. I said that if Jody wanted to, she could explain why we were planting it today. She quietly shook her head no.

I stopped working and stood up. I’d placed the rose in the hole but had yet to pack it into place. I looked at Jody. “Would you like to do the rest?” I asked.

She nodded her head silently. The other women surrounded her as she kneeled in the earth, gently moving the soil into place. The garden around us teemed with life. Above the silence you could hear the insects humming.

I noticed that I hadn’t dug the hole deep enough. It looked like a small grave the way that it was mounded above the surrounding earth. That’s okay, I thought. Just let it be.

While none of the students explicitly knew what was happening, they could quickly tell. Jody isn’t ever silent or serious. A few of the women reached out to touch Jody on the shoulder as she worked, reassuring her as they offered words of encouragement. She kneeled in the soil, face turned towards the ground, her body quietly convulsing. I walked away. Better to let her have this moment on her own, surrounded by the women with whom she spends every waking minute.

Jody will be released from prison in a few weeks. She’ll go back home to her husband and children. There will be one empty bed in her home, a bed that can never be filled by her daughter.

Back at the prison, a rose will be in bloom. Someone else will fill Jody’s place in the class. Perhaps they’ll look at that rose on their darkest day and realize that there is hope, that life can go on. That’s my prayer at least.

John 1:5: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."