A Hidden White Hydrangea and A Forever Blooming Friendship

Maybe I needed this reminder, as I’ve been pondering friendship—especially in light of loss. I have another blog post coming on a similar subject, but this sweet one needs to be shared first. I’ve been lamenting about my blue hydrangeas that have not bloomed this year AND about fading friendships. Not all relationships/friendships survive the storm of loss—but when it does, it blooms deeper.

Because the truth is…relationships and friendships are often—confusingly and sadly—altered or even lost when you’re rebuilding a life after the death of the most important person in it. A husband.

There’s a quiet ache in noticing who remembers, who reaches out, who shows up—and who doesn’t. And how deeply that matters when you’re grieving a devastating circumstance or loss—whether it’s a spouse, a child, a parent, a friend.

Just when I needed the reminder, a treasured memory from 2020—written by a longtime friend—showed up today.

I have seen many seasons with this friend. Our first babies were diaper buddies from the old neighborhood as we were growing into motherhood. Our husbands knew one another before we met. Proof that this friendship runs deep. Life has taken us on winding paths, but somehow, they kept crossing over 25 years.

Maintaining lifelong, holy friendships isn’t easy—especially when you’re raising big, busy families and then walking through something catastrophic. It takes intention. It takes heart. It takes grace and patience. 

But real friendship is just that—real. It’s showing up however you can. It’s saying, “I’m here,” even from a distance without expectation, just love. It’s knowing life is precious, and so are the people who’ve walked it with you.

We’ve shared a similar heart for parenting from the very beginning—from nursing our babies side by side in the old neighborhood, to making bold choices about homeschooling, later in life to doing our best to stay rooted in God every step of the way.

Over the years, our families have grown and scattered, our seasons have shifted, and our time has become even more precious. But through it all, we’ve worked hard and intentionally to stay connected especially when prompted by the Holy Spirit. Often that meant God showed us we were thinking of one another at the very same moment. 

Sometimes that meant knowing each other needed space because our families always came first.

Other times, it meant driving your family through a rainstorm to her house for our kids to swim together, or clearing a day just to sit at a kitchen table and catch up on everything we’ve missed. We’ve had visits where we talked for hours and still barely scratched the surface. It’s never quite enough time—but it’s always enough to remind us that the connection is still there. Stronger than time. Deeper than distance.

It’s a friendship that doesn’t need constant upkeep to survive. There’s little expectation. It’s one rooted in shared beginnings, similar faithful values, and a whole lot of grace while wrapped in a mantle of love and devotion to the Blessed Mother. 

Back in 2020, my dear long-time friend wrote a reflection inspired by one of my blog posts on hydrangeas—The Unapologetic Blue Hydrangea. It was published five years ago this week. Where has the time gone.

In my writing, I shared how the hydrangea bush bloomed in many different colors, and how each color carries its own symbolism. Blue: Unapologetic…White: Bold for example, and about embracing who God created you to be I invite you to read the post.

In her reflection about my essay, she shared that she had planted a small, clearance-rack hydrangea in a corner of her yard—brown-leaved and nearly forgotten. She almost dug it up more than once. But then…white blooms emerged. Bold. Bragging. Boastful. She told me she thought of me because of that post.

And when I reached out back then—”unapologetically out of the blue”—as she called it, she said she had been thinking of me all day. That’s the kind of friendship this has always been. 

She texted me that she brought those white blooms to Our Lady of Lourdes, placing them at Mary’s feet and entrusting her children, her godchildren, and our country to her care. To Jesus through Mary. We all needed that grace back in 2020. I would need it more that I could ever have known only weeks after sharing the post.

That friend has been on my mind this whole week, maybe all summer (we both had a rough early start to the year) and then I saw the memory of her reflection this morning. 

So I messaged her. 

She told me she saw her own white hydrangea again too—and thought of me this week. We texted and agreed we loved the timing only God can orchestrate and agreed we’d get together before the sun set on summer.

After we messaged, I stepped outside today to let the pup run in the yard. I started to pull the overgrown weeds surrounding my Blessed Mother’s statue, and beneath the wild blooming roses—there they were: three white hydrangeas, blooming boldly. 

I had forgotten I even planted this new bush last year. I may have forgotten it was white. I love those blue ones!

The blooming—exploding—roses have hidden that new little bush. I have been lamenting my blue hydrangeas did not bloom at all this year. Not like 2020. Not like last year.

But those white ones were there.

Quiet. Strong. Bold. In full bloom. Right behind Mary.

You see that’s the beauty of the kind of friendship that’s rooted deeply, even when unseen. The kind that blooms again in its own time. The kind that reminds you: love never leaves. And some memories are planted by God Himself.

Love you, friend.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts about my writing and my blue hydrangeas back then.

Today, I found your white one.

Friendship doesn’t always survive the storm of loss—but when it does, it blooms deeper.

Heather Lebano

Maybe there’s someone you haven’t reached out to in a while… maybe today’s the day.
Or maybe you’ve planted something in your life—hope, healing, faith—and it’s been hidden under grief or busyness or noise.
Look again.
It might be blooming now.
Quiet. Strong. Bold. In full bloom.

You see that’s the beauty of the kind of friendship that’s rooted deeply, even when unseen. The kind that blooms again in its own time. The kind that reminds you: love never leaves. And some memories are planted by God Himself.

Heather lebano

“Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste…”—Luke 1:39

This calls to mind the relationship between Mary and Elizabeth. Just like Mary made haste to be with Elizabeth, maybe we, too, are called to show up—quietly, gently, and faithfully for our friends.To bring joy to what feels hidden. To notice what’s blooming. To carry one another’s prayers to the feet of Our Lady.