Nancy White Kelly
On
my kitchen table is a gorgeous yellow rose, fully opened, revealing a blush of
pinkish-red. Buddy didn’t give me the rose exactly; he gave me the bush on
Mother’s Day. He carefully planted it. Occasionally he fertilized it. Often,
during the summer months, before the sun was fully risen, Buddy made a special
trip in his pajamas to give the bush an extra drink of water.
Last
week I noticed this last rose of summer reaching upward toward the sun.
Spurned, the flower seemed to beckon me with a gentle wave. Maybe it was
wishing for a place of prolonged lingering beauty inside the house. Otherwise,
it would have wilted soon among the surrounding fading roses with their thorny
stems. I obliged the rose.
Before
the day was over, a dear friend, widowed four years ago this month, sat at the
kitchen table. She commented on the beauty of that rose. We reminisced about
her husband who enjoyed befriending the widows, the lonely, the ill, the needy of all sorts.
After my friend left, I stared at that late yellow rose. I was reminded me of a true story stuck away in my files. It has inspired many in their pining grief. The story, author unknown, has been stuck away in my old cherry desk drawer for years waiting for such a time as this.
“I
walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying
groceries. I wasn't hungry.
The pain of losing my husband of 37 years
was still too raw. And this grocery store held so many sweet memories.
Rudy often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and
look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him
walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands. Rudy knew
I
loved yellow roses. With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy
my
few
items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since Rudy had
passed on. Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had
for two people.
Standing
by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered
how
Rudy had loved his steak. Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was
blond,
slim
and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large pack
of
T-bones, dropped them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back.
She
turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks.
She
saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones,
but
honestly, at these prices, I don't know."
I swallowed the emotion down my throat and
met her pale blue eyes. "My
husband passed away eight days
ago," I told her. Glancing at the package
in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the
steaks. And cherish every moment you
have together." She shook her head
and
I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket
and
wheeled
away.
I
turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy
products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. A
quart, I finally decided, and moved on to the ice cream section near the
front of the store. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream
cone.
I
placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the
front. I saw first the green suit. Then I recognized the pretty lady coming
towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest
smile
I had ever seen. It looked as if a soft halo encircled her blond hair as
she
kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine. As she came closer, I
saw
what she held. Tears began misting in
my eyes.
"These are for you," she said as she placed three beautiful long
stemmed
yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know
these
are paid for." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek,
then
smiled again.
I wanted to tell her what she'd done,
what the roses meant, but still
unable to speak, I watched as she walked away and tears clouded my vision.
I
looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and
found
it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear.
I
wasn't alone.
"Oh, Rudy, you haven't forgotten me, have you?” Tears again watered my
eyes.
Yes,
Rudy was still with me. This lady was his angel.
************
“…for
thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2b
nancyk@alltel.net for publication: October 25, 2001
