Six months after Molly left us, I wrote about planting a rhododendron in the backyard above her ashes. LP and I carefully chose the shrub, and we managed to gather the whole family together on the day to say the last goodbye. Now it's spring, and I watched with eagerness the progress of the little rhododendron, sheltered by an upended laundry hamper all winter, in case of heavy snow. We bought one labeled as white, but when the blossoms appeared closed, they looked pink instead.
I told LP, and she said, "It's okay. Molly was a girly girl."
We chose the white, you see, because of her pretty, pretty paws, white at the tips.
Eventually, the blossoms opened, and now we see they really are white, but not bright white. They have that hint of pink, and it is pretty, pretty.