Flower Therapy

For the longest time — and I still believe it — I thought flower therapy helped my mom’s cancer.
I was sure that the flower fortress I started to grow would protect us. That is, until we found out about a new mass in her left frontal lobe on 09/05/2025.
This news penetrated that fortress, and a wave of sadness washed over us.
But like nature, despite the elements, growth continues. So if you ask me if the flowers continue? Damn right they will.

It’s been a crazy summer. Here’s a short recap:
In late May, a historic microburst hit the farm, and in a matter of minutes, it crushed all the flower babies. Luckily, I had the best recovery crew to get the farm and flowers back on their feet and thriving — a sign of resilience in flowers, people, and the farm.

Then things took a turn personally. My girlfriend Hannah's mom was diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer.
And all I could say was, "Well, fuck." That wrapped up June.

In July, a massive rainstorm tore through the Texas Hill Country, causing one of the worst river floods in Kerr County history — taking over 100 lives. Flower therapy came to us in a different form, this time as a way to give back. We were able to donate all bouquet profits to the flood relief fund, raising over $325.

Today, I’m writing this from Yellowstone National Park, with Yellowstone Lake as my backdrop.
On Sunday (9/7/25), Hannah’s mom passed away.
I sit in sadness, looking at the natural flora of Yellowstone, and start questioning — spiraling, panicking… breathing.

Why flowers? Why do I do it?
Because now, I'm confident and committed that it’s become my therapy. The ability to hand someone a bouquet — to brighten up someone’s day — means everything. Flowers will die (like everyone does), but as life has shown me, flowers, much like people, can provide a moment of happiness that can’t be found anywhere else.