She, The Rose That Rose
Some may say—
She's just a rose.
But I say—
She's the rose
That rose
From the concrete.
Where pain met purpose,
Where sacrifice kissed faith,
She bloomed.
Unbroken.
Unbowed.
Unapologetically beautiful.
I've watched her
Turn storms into sunlight,
Turn silence into prayer,
Turn every scar
Into a story of survival.
And when I look at her—
I don't just see beauty.
I see becoming.
I want our children
To look at her
And see what strength looks like
When it wears grace like perfume.
I want them to see
That love can be soft
And still be powerful.
That faith can be quiet
And still move mountains.
To my daughter—
I want you to be like your mother.
To know what you want
And never waver.
To glide through life
Strong-willed,
Head high,
Heart open,
Ready to risk it all
To become better.
To understand
That softness is not weakness,
That love is not surrender,
That being whole
Is the bravest thing a woman can be.
When the world tries to tell you
You're too much,
Remember your mother—
Who turned every "too much"
Into "just enough."
To my sons—
I want you to see how I look at her.
How I treat her.
How I hold her—
Like she's both fire and freedom.
I want you to know
That real love
Isn't loud—
It's consistent.
It's patient.
It's choosing her
Every day,
Even when the world feels heavy.
I want you to find a woman
Who challenges you,
Who prays with you,
Who believes in you
The way your mother believes in us.
And when you do—
Love her with gentleness,
Honor her with presence,
Protect her with peace.
Because she—
She is magic.
The kind that doesn't need applause.
The kind that heals rooms
Just by walking through them.
She is the rose
That rose from the concrete—
And still,
She rises.
And to you—
My love,
My late chapter miracle,
I know I came after the storms,
After the rebuilding,
After the lessons carved deep.
But I thank God
That I arrived in time
To see the woman you became.
To love you
Not for who you were,
But for who you chose to become.
You've taught me
That timing isn't everything—
Faith is.
That love doesn't always arrive early,
But it always arrives right on time.
And when our children ask
What love looks like,
I'll point to us—
Not perfect,
But persistent.
Not flawless,
But faithful.
Because their mother—
You—
Are living proof
That resilience wears beauty,
That grace can grow from concrete,
That love can bloom
Even after the drought.
And I—
I get to love her.
Every day.
In every way.
For all my days.
Dariii ~ 10/12/25
