I carried two large bags of groceries from the garage into the kitchen. The house was quiet. A miniature pink rose rested on the counter of the island in the center of our kitchen. A small square of folded white paper sat behind the beautiful rose. I picked up the note and smiled as I read: “To say I love you would be enough, I know; but I’d rather say ‘I love you’ with a rose.” The note was signed, “Love, Burke.”
I placed the rose in a small vase of water, tucked the little note in my wallet between my library and voter registration cards, and in a few days I forgot about the heartwarming little gift.
I absolutely love flowers and they were a recurring theme in our marriage; beginning with the beautiful gardenias that filled the church on the day of our wedding. The fragrance of the gardenia is sweet, aromatic, and unmistakable. Many times, I have placed a gardenia blossom or a rose bud on my pillow just so I could enjoy the wonderful fragrance as I drifted off to sleep.
Burke gave me flowers on many occasions during our marriage—sometimes roses, sometimes Stargazer lilies; however, he knew yellow roses were my favorite. I always thanked my husband and carried on over his lovely flower gifts. In hindsight, I never appreciated them enough.
My husband died a few months after he gave me the sweet little miniature rose.
In the days that followed Burke’s death, flowers came pouring into the funeral home and the church; some were delivered to our home. Words could never express the depths of my gratitude; each flower meant someone was remembering Burke and that fact deeply touched my heart. Three cherished words echoed in my mind each time a floral arrangement was delivered; I suppose as long as I live, flowers will always mean “I love you” to me.
After Burke’s funeral, I took many of the beautiful, fresh flowers to my home. All too soon, the colorful flowers withered and died. When there were no more fresh flowers in the house, I missed them a great deal.
Three weeks after I buried my husband, the florist delivered a unique arrangement to my home. There were so many fresh flowers! The arrangement was nearly three feet high! I have never seen such a gorgeous array! The square, ivory-colored-metal container held a fabulous assortment of all kinds of flowers. Purple iris and yellow roses were predominant; they stood out strikingly above all the rest. I opened the envelope that accompanied the flowers to find my friend, Charline Wilhite, had sent them. She purposefully waited to send her gift in memory of Burke, knowing that it would be even more special after all the others had faded and died. I positioned the arrangement in the center of my long dining table, in front of the kitchen fireplace.
Each morning I sat in the kitchen, sipping my coffee next to an empty chair and trying to adapt to my new way of life. I only needed to look up and Charline’s flowers gave me a bit of comfort. They spoke those same three words to my heart: “I love you.” I am quite certain Charline never realized how much her gift meant to me during those early days of adjustment. I tried to express my gratitude, but my words never seemed adequate. As the days passed, one by one, the flowers drooped and died. Each day, I removed the dead ones, leaving the live ones in ample water. Finally, the day came when all the flowers were gone. Only the greenery remained alive, except for one yellow rose. I stopped adding water to the container, but, surprisingly, the gorgeous, perfectly formed little rose did not droop and it did not fade. After a month, I removed the rose from the greenery and laid it on the mantle.
Though the rose remained on the mantle for many weeks and became dry to the touch, the color remained vibrant, its head never drooped, and the petals never withered! Thinking the little yellow rose must have been treated with a preservative; I carried it with me and visited the florist to find what they had done to make it stay so perfect. Each employee looked at it and admired the rose, but no one had an explanation. The floral shop owner said he had never seen a rose remain so perfectly preserved. He remarked, “Only God could do such a thing!” He suggested I store it in a sealed glass container for preservation.
One day, I was sorting out the contents of my wallet and a folded, square piece of white paper fell out. I picked it up and unfolded it. Once again I read, “To say I love you would be enough, I know; but I’d rather say ‘I love you’ with a rose. Love, Burke.” Could it be? He had been in Heaven for months! Was the unusual little rose his way of saying, “I love you”?
Many years have passed and the little rose remains the same—its vibrant, yellow petals are fully opened and the stem is still green.
Since Burke died, I have learned to accept the gifts and not question the Giver. I hear Him say, “I love you” each time I look at the extraordinary yellow rose that never died.