The Impossible Rose: Invisible Life Energy

It was a clear, bright and frosty January morning, in 2019, when my Mum died.

It was expected news, but hugely sad, despite her obvious decline over the preceding weeks. Emotions were mixed and my thoughts were dashing, but I remember pondering what flower I would consider had been her favourite. I think I was subconsciously preparing for what was next in terms of organisation, but this was not my immediate, conscious priority.

I didn’t share this particular thought with anyone. A few hours later, my husband spotted a perfectly formed, ruby-red rose outside the kitchen window, on the otherwise hibernating rose bush. These normally make an appearance in June, or May at the earliest here in the UK.

This was the flower I’d decided earlier that day was the one I most associated with Mum. She had always appreciated red roses for their richness and deep colouring, but I had also thought they reflected her essence, as she was always very vibrant and warm.

This impossible (to explain) rose was a positive sign for me that morning, filling me with love and hope. It demonstrated the invisible energy that's behind life. It's hard for us to explain or even comprehend this, as it is formless, but there is no disputing it's there in all of us; it's what keeps us alive.

Whether you call it life energy or something else, it's what makes the sun rise everyday (without which we’d survive an estimated 18 hours), turns seeds into great trees, keeps planets spinning and informs cells how to grow a new life, or heal cuts - all without our active involvement.

I’ve since heard of others who have experienced something similar on a day of great loss. You may believe it's random chance, but to me it created a blurry line between the physical world of form we live in and something else that's invisible and much harder to therefore describe.

Since losing Mum, I've become more aware of this aspect of life and whilst we can't see what's invisible, we can feel something alive in us, it's our very breath, and contemplating this is somehow reassuring.

When you experience the loss of a close loved one, you can't help but wonder what happens after death. The truth is we just don't know and that actually gives me hope. The appearance of the impossible rose that day felt like a gift or a sign that was hopeful and reassuring, without being an obvious answer.

Life is a journey of discovery and it's more multi-layered than we first comprehend, but it's also pretty simple!

There are more 'unknowns' about our human experience in this vast universe than 'knowns', but if we accept this, as well as the fact that we are not in control of much of what happens in the bigger picture of existence, we can just relax and enjoy life.

This acceptance, combined with the knowledge that our thoughts create our felt experience in the moment (see my blog post on the Power of Thought for more on this), can help us to flow with the exciting, and sometimes challenging, unfolding of life.

I choose to recognise that life and death are both gifts that operate according to their own timing, without our influence, and this makes me more appreciative of life and less afraid of death somehow. Losing my Mum earlier than you might anticipate (compared to others my age) has given me this gift.

I hope that as you read and reflect on my words, this may plant a seed of hope, whatever your circumstance, within you too.

With my love,

Suzie x