A Spring of Joy

Brian knows my favorite flower is the rose. The red rose.

I have saved every single petal from every single rose he’s ever given me since our engagement (two boxes full so far). I am sentimental like that.

The children are fascinated by this, and they love to pull off the petals and spread them out to dry. “But, why? Why do you save them?” they have asked.

“When I am, Lord willing, very old and have gone to be with Jesus. I want the petals spread over my casket in my grave as a symbol of your daddy’s love through the years.”

They love the idea, and it becomes a topic of conversation every time Brian brings me roses.

“You have so many now, Mom,” Bear said at supper one night, “When you’re eighty just think how many you’ll have! How will we get them all there?”

Ash-Man, always thinking function over form, says, “Just put them in trash bags and bring them to the cemetery.”

Bear chewed on that thought for a moment while he took another bite, and then his eyes got that glimmer. I have learned the glimmer means something is coming. “What if we brought the wrong trash bag?” He cracked himself up and through his laughter he continued, “What if we picked it up and just dumped trash all over your grave?”

I about spit out my drink and laughed until tears streamed down my face.

When we had all settled down a bit, Bear quietly said, “If it were Daddy’s grave, I’d throw in a weed wacker!”

Yep. They’re sentimental, too. Can’t you tell?

Oh, how I love my boys!