佚名 /Anonymous
Atthetimemysonwasbornin1956, , theroomwassoonfilledwiththelovelyscentofroses.
Astheseventhfloralarrangementwasbroughtin, Iwasbeginningtofeeluncomfortable, fornoflowershadarrivedformyroommate, , yettherewassomethingaboutherlarge, browneyesthatmademethinkshehadknowntoomuchstruggling, 'sflowers.
“I'menjoyingeveryminuteofthis,” shesaidasthoughshehadreadmythoughtsandwastryingtoreassureme.“Wasn'tItheluckyonetogetyouforaroommate?”
Istillfeltuncomfortable, , Ithought, , Iaskedthemtosendhersome.
TheflowersarrivedjustasAnnandIwerefinishingsupper.
“Anotherbouquetforyou,” shesaid, laughing.
“No, notthistime,” Isaid, lookingatthecard.“Theseareforyou.”
Annstaredattheblossomsalongtime, -blueceramicbooteeandlightlytouchedeachofthesweetheartrosesnestledinsideasthoughtryingtoengravethemonhermemory.
“HowcanIeverthankyou?” shesaidsoftly.
.Thesonborntomyhusbandandmethatdayin1956turnedouttobeouronlychild.Fornearly21yearshefilledourliveswithloveandlaughter, makingusfeelcomplete.ButonEastermorninginApril1977, afteralong, painfulbattlewithcancer, hediedquietlyinourarms.
AtthefuneralhomeIwasalonewithmysoninaroomfilledwiththescentofroses, 'treadthecarduntillater, aswerodetothecemetery.“,” thecardsaid, “fromtheboywhowasbornwithyouatMemorialHospital, andhismother.”
OnlythendidIrecognizetheceramicbooteeIhadgiventoasadyoungwomansomanyyearsago, , , too, remembered.
“Akindnessreturned,” mothersaid.
