a hard loss

For Priya
I'm not going to pretend I know what to say. I just didn't want the week to go past without you hearing from me. I'm around, any hour, and you don't have to reply to this.
0:14
Bunchnote
Tell us about the person. We choose the flowers, tell you why each one is in there, and send the bouquet as a link with your message and your voice inside it. No app, no address, nothing to post.
Tell us how you feel and who is making you feel it. Say it the way you’d say it out loud — messy is fine, a sentence is plenty. We’ll find the flowers that say it back.
Go on — it’s the real thing
Every one of these is real output. The sentence and the message are the sender’s; the flowers, and the reason for each of them, are what came back. Nothing here was written to look good on this page.
My friend Priya's mum died last Tuesday. I've started three messages and deleted all of them. I don't want to say the wrong thing but saying nothing is worse.

For Priya
I said something careless to my brother Danny at dinner on Sunday and he left before pudding. He hasn't answered his phone since. I know exactly what I said.

For Danny
My partner Sam has been working in Aberdeen for four months and there are still two to go. Nothing is wrong. I just miss them and I want them to know today rather than in June.

For Sam
My friend Ade submitted her PhD on Friday after seven years, two supervisors and a pandemic. She kept saying she was going to quit and she didn't.

For Ade
My neighbour Margaret fed my cat and watered every plant in the flat for the three weeks I was in hospital, and then wouldn't take anything for it.

For Margaret
My daughter Nia starts her new job on Monday and she's convinced they've made a mistake hiring her. She's been like this since she was small.

For Nia
I've been working in Dubai for three years and I send my mum money every month. She never mentions it. I want her to know the money isn't the point and I've never been able to say that on the phone.

A note with it
My colleague Femi and his wife have their thirtieth anniversary on Saturday. He talks about her every single day and I don't think anyone at work has ever said anything about it.

For Femi
Rachel is leaving on Friday after eleven years. She trained half this office including me, and the card going round has forty signatures and nothing on it that means anything.

For Rachel
My mum's oldest friend Bea got the all-clear on Tuesday after eighteen months of treatment. Nobody quite knows how to celebrate it without making it a bigger thing than she wants.

For Bea
My mate Tom has had a genuinely grim few months and nobody sends men flowers. There's no occasion. I just want something to turn up at his door.

For Tom

Nobody keeps a text message.
They keep this one. It opens on a link, it says who it is from and why each flower is in it, and it does not disappear up a scroll.
One sentence, however it comes out. No categories, no occasion dropdown, nothing to get right.
Eight varieties chosen for what you actually said, each with a line about why it is in there.
Move the stems around until it looks like something you would hand over. It is your bouquet.
They open it on their phone. No app, no account, no address needed — just the flowers and your words.
You do not have to know what to say to them. That is the part we are for.
Start with a sentenceFlowers are chosen from a real catalogue of stock. Nothing is sent until you say so.