Story by Becky Holloway
My brother, Mike, was murdered January 11, 1998. The funeral was here in south Arkansas while his daughter Erika lives in south Louisiana. When Ericka left to return home, I sent many plants with her from the service. She was particularly interested in having a gardenia because they were Mike’s favorite.
Mike’s little granddaughter Danica was just 3 years old at the time of his death. With childlike innocence Danica asked many questions regarding her Papa Mike’s death. She was told that he was now in heaven, which satisfied her. She enjoyed helping her mom tend to the plants and particularly enjoyed watching the gardenia flourish when they planted it in their yard.
When the gardenia bloomed that spring, Danica was overjoyed and insisted that the lovely, fragrant blossoms were roses. She was pleased to take a bouquet of the gardenias to her nursery school teacher one morning.
That afternoon the teacher told Ericka that she had to share the precious thing that Danica had told her about the flowers. When the teacher thanked Danica and asked her where she had gotten the beautiful gardenias, Danica said, “They’re from my Papa Mike. He sends me roses from heaven.”
