She has come to love the flowers as though each stem, and leaf, and petal were her own leg, and hand, and face.
She tends to them as she would a child, nursing them with water and kind words and trimming away the waiting excess with discipline and compassion. It is not easy work. Sometimes she fails.
Sometimes a flower will yellow, and wither, and die. She tries not to take it personally, she knows that she has done everything she can to help it thrive and succeed in the world.
She tries not to mourn them or blame herself.