Journey of One Rose

In January 1992, after my 15-day-old son Braden passed away due to citrullinemia, one of eight urea cycle disorders, I planted a yellow sweetheart rose bush in his memory. It was right outside our front door purposefully, so I could pour every ounce of my love and grief into something alive. I followed every rule I remembered from my parents’ gardening lessons: perfect soil, precise watering, disease prevention.

“If my love had anything to do with it, this would be the most beautiful rose bush ever.”

But despite my diligence, it had no blooms forming. I nicknamed it Charlie Brown because it reminded me of Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.

Regardless, I cared for Charlie Brown with a mother’s devotion. Gardening gave my empty arms something to do. My heart was broken and my hands needed purpose if I was to survive this tragic loss. Charlie Brown was a tiny connection point to Braden, a way to nurture something even though I no longer had my child to hold. Emptiness and loss filled my life and I wondered if my tears would ever stop, but I kept watering and nurturing anyway.

About four months later, I noticed Charlie Brown had produced a tiny green bud and I allowed a sliver of hope to penetrate my scarred heart.

On Mother’s Day 1992, the rose bloomed. I stood in the yard and wept.

The world didn’t see me as a mother that year because I had no child in my arms, but when that single rose bloomed at just the right moment,

I knew God saw me.

Just before Father’s Day, another rose bloomed. I clipped it and put it in the refrigerator to be a surprise gift on Father’s Day. It was a small, silent gesture that meant everything. Those two yellow roses felt like God’s quiet way of letting us know He shared our pain. During that awkward year, friends and family didn’t know how to acknowledge us on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day.

But those roses settled it. We were parents.

And through two yellow roses, God showed us that we were not alone.

Almost two years later, as we celebrated the upcoming birth of our daughter, Victoria Faith, we were surrounded by baby showers, gifts, and so much hope. Despite having a 1 in 4 chance of being born with citrullinemia, Victoria had been prenatally cleared of the disease, which made everything feel even more miraculous and hopeful.

Even Charlie Brown joined our celebration.

After months with no blooms, a new bud was forming. I just knew it was going to bloom on her “birth” day.

Torrey was born on November 19, 1993. We welcomed her home on a Saturday, but Charlie Brown didn’t. His bud was still green and tightly closed. On Tuesday, we got the call.

Backup testing revealed Victoria had citrullinemia,

the same rare, devastating condition that took Braden.

We raced back to the hospital. It was a cruel déjà vu because I had just let my guard down to love my new baby girl. Now I was being told she likely wouldn’t survive another week.

We learned it was possible to survive with citrullinemia, but Victoria would require meticulous, precise, and vigilant care. Just six hours without medication could send her into a life-ending or life-altering metabolic coma. We spent eleven days in the hospital on stabilizing IV medications that she would need frequently and learned how to (attempt to) fight citrullinemia.

When we were finally discharged from the hospital, I saw it, Charlie Brown was right on cue with a single yellow rose.

In that moment, I felt God speak through that rose:

Victoria would live, and I would not be alone in my fight to keep my daughter alive.

Yellow roses became a deeply personal reminder from God that He was fighting my hardest battles alongside me.

I expanded my rose tradition: each year, I give Victoria a pink rose for every year of her life to remind her of the same message: I see her, and she is not alone.

As the bouquet grows, so does my gratitude.

On January 1, 1995, as I watched the Rose Parade, I made a quiet promise to Victoria:

One day she would ride in that parade, surrounded by other children born with urea cycle disorders, carrying our family’s rose-filled message of hope to the world.

I’ve never stopped seeing yellow roses.

Every Mother’s Day and every year on Braden’s birthday, no matter where I am, a yellow rose finds me. Sometimes it’s a flower, a card, or a storefront display.

No matter what form they are in, each time I see one,

I’m reminded that God sees me, and I am not alone.

In 2023, Victoria turned thirty. I gave her thirty pink roses to mark the milestone, but I knew that wasn’t enough.

I had to do something bigger to match the depth of my gratitude for her miraculous life and everything still ahead.

That’s when I started Extend the Rose.

Extend the Rose was born out of gratitude for Victoria’s life and for the miracle of Braden’s diagnosis that helped save her.

It exists to bring that same kind of hope to children and families in hospitals. We show up in the moments that feel forgotten and offer a compassionate interruption, just like those yellow roses did for me.

Sometimes we bring connection through a photo booth, our ROAR gallery, or lunch and laughter.

However, the real gift is the message behind it:

You are seen, you are heard, Your story matters and we celebrate YOU!

Each rose we share is like one Charlie Brown bloom reaching out to bring visibility, voice and victory to children and families in the hospital.

This year, it’s all coming full circle.

What began in 1992 as one yellow rose of hope in my darkest hour grew into pink roses for every year of Victoria’s miraculous life.

The gratitude I felt for that single bloom, and for the gift of her life, has never stopped growing. Today, that same gratitude is reaching farther and blooming into something beautiful, bold, and brave…

On January 1, 2027, our Rose Parade float will carry more than just flowers, it will carry children whose lives have been affected by urea cycle disorders and a hope-filled message to 28 million television viewers:

You are seen, heard and CELEBRATED — Never Give Up!

Love and gratitude kept me from giving up despite tragic loss and a devastating diagnosis. They are also the reason Extend the Rose exists. They carried me through heartbreak and healing, and now they will carry a message far beyond my own story.

One rose will become 28 million in the Rose Parade because love held on and gratitude kept going.

Charlie Brown is blooming into something I never could have imagined…

because gratitude doesn’t stay quiet.

It begins in one heart and grows with each heart it touches.

One grateful heart in response to a tiny rose can ignite a movement, awaken hope, and change the world!

Swanson, E., Diamond, M., Kovach, J. Jr., Lamothe, A., & Others. (2025). The book of frequency: Love & gratitude [Kindle edition]. Frequency Publishing.

We need your help!

Donate, Volunteer, or Partner with us to make Extend the Rose Thrive!

Let’s Make the World Bloom

From one rose to millions, hope grows when you get involved.

Whether you give time, influence, resources, or heart

You’re part of something powerful, personal, and full of possibility.

Extend the Rose is a national movement bringing visibility, voice, and victory to children and families in hospitals. One Rose Can Change Everything

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