When Flowers Die

How is it, I wonder to myself, that something so beautiful and given as a thoughtful gift, can cause pain to the receiver?   Sounds silly, I know.  Yet I can't help the twinge of real sorrow I feel as I watch a bunch of roses wither and die.  Roses that were given to me by a neighbour in return for babysitting her son.  A beautiful, multi-coloured bunch of sweet young roses that smelt like I'd imagine Heaven would smell - sort of fresh and sweet and gentle.  
Yet one week later they are dead and I have to throw them away.

I have on occassion photographed flowers I received, particularly those given to me when Rocco was born, in an attempt to preserve their beauty in some way. 

Somehow, something so beautiful should last longer, much longer, than a measly week. 

I wonder then, if anyone else feels like this or if they just chuck them out and wait for new...

Which brings me to a fond memory back in late 2001 when my then boyfriend and now husband brought me a handful of handpicked daisies - my favourite!  I was still living with my parents and he had been on a truck trip and had brought these back for me.  He'd elaborated on how he'd literally dodged hundreds of swarming bloodthirsty bees (or maybe it was pollen-thirsty!) - and him being allergic as well! - to bring me this thing of beauty.  I popped them straight in a vase and there they stood - for nearly three weeks.  We went away that weekend, and on our return, as we pulled up outside, my mom apparently said to my father, 'quick, chuck out the flowers before she comes in' - they knew I didn't have the heart to throw them away!

Roses are beautiful and classy and romantic and all, but daisies are wild and last longer, even if they don't smell good!

I got these when Cillisa was born from my father.  Coincidentally, Carnations were my Mom's favourite...