Growing up, catching a moment with my dad between his multiple jobs and late shifts was like Christmas. The joy from him, and my sisters. I was euphoric. Then he would be gone again in the morning. And yet, I could still smell his gardenias.

In my childhood home, there was a gardenia bush that grew outside my bedroom window. I adored it. The smell, the sign of warmer weather and the approach to Christmas as the flowers bloomed. I was heartbroken when we moved and there wouldn’t be that gardenia bush.

My father, John Habib, with his gardenias. They bring back my childhood, and the fondest memories of my dad.

Until I realised my father had taken a piece of that exact gardenia bush and given it a new life at our new home, to help me feel at ease. And once again, as he went to work and I caught fleeting moments with him, I could smell the gardenia. And it would be Christmas again, soon.

He did the same thing when I moved out into my family home with my husband........

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