02/05/2026
I didnât expect flowers to feel this heavy.
They were just sunflowers at firstâbright, open, reaching toward the light like they always do. The kind youâd think belonged in a field on a warm afternoon, not gathered quietly beside a coffin.
But now they carry something else.
These were the flowers from a farewell no one was ready for. A young life, a bright future ahead and big dreams, suddenly gone in a moment the earth itself couldnât hold together. And somehow, these sunflowers were there through it allâwitnesses to tears, to embraces, to the kind of silence that says everything words canât.
Drying them carefully, petal by petal, trying to hold onto something that feels impossible to hold onto. Not because it changes anythingâit doesnâtâbut because it feels wrong to let something that stood in that room, that held space for so much love and grief, simply disappear.
Sunflowers turn toward the light. Thatâs what they do.
Maybe preserving them is a way of remembering that even in the darkest moments, there was still love there. Still warmth. Still people showing up for each other. There is still hope.
These flowers arenât just flowers anymore.
Theyâre a memory of a life that mattered. A reminder of how fragile everything is. And somehow, also a quiet promiseâto keep having hope that someday we will meet again.
