Hydrangea macrophylla 'Ayesha' - 16 January 2026

Six minutes before my Rosemary died she asked, “Am I dying?” I was unable to answer.

Of late I have come to the conclusion that while my fate may not be decided in the next 6 minutes, I am dying. I would add to that, “I am waiting to die”.

My Kitsilano house has no room on the walls for any more framed family portraits. I rarely photographed them smiling. I liked the serious look into my camera lens. As I see them, something that I am neither unable nor willing to avoid, it is patently obvious that my life was back then. My photographic output was back then. What remains are those memories.

I look at the many objects in my house that I purchased with Rosemary or objects that belonged to my mother, grandmother, father or Rosemary. I have no idea that my present family will understand their value to me. Will they want Rosemary’s collection of Italian handbags or her shoes?

My grandmother often told me, “El que espera desespera.” Because to wait, esperar and despair, desesperar it is impossible to get the meaning in English of  “He who waits,despairs.”

My youngest daughter tells me to keep busy and have distractions. I am unable to explain that distractions don’t work. Because I lived 63% of my life with Rosemary that feeling of waiting for my oblivion, just like Rosemary waited for those 6 minutes, will persist until the waiting is over.

I did not know how I was going to illustrate this lugubrious blog. For that last few weeks I have noticed how my Hydrangea macrophylla 'Ayesha' has had a couple of persistent florets. It refuses to go the same way as my other plants. Perhaps it represents the strong will of my Rosemary who did ask that question that few of our can answer so close to one's death.