Grandma Asked Me to Move Her Favorite Rosebush One Year After Her Death
I Never Expected to Find What She’d Hidden Beneath It
A year after my grandmother’s death, I kept my promise to her: to dig up her favorite rosebush. I’m Bonnie, 26, raised in northern Michigan by my mom, Mary, and my grandmother, Liz—the steady heart of our family. My aunt Karen, distant and always taking more than she gave, had been a source of tension. Near the end, Grandma whispered that the house would belong to Mom and me and that I should move her rosebush a year after she was gone.
After the funeral, Karen appeared claiming Grandma left the house to her. We found no will and were forced to move into a small cottage. When the year passed, I returned to the rosebush and unearthed an iron box containing Grandma’s letter and her real will, naming Mom and me as heirs.
With an attorney, we proved Karen’s forgery in court. The judge restored the house to us, awarded damages, and opened criminal charges. For the first time in months, Mom and I felt relief. Grandma had anticipated the betrayal and left the proof—hidden beneath the roots of something she loved.
We moved back home, grateful for tenants who had cared for it. I replanted the rosebush by the porch, feeling peace as the sun set. Through foresight and love, Grandma had saved not just our home, but the heart of our family.
