Monday, May 18, 2015

This story of a secret long kept is absolutely touching and speaks for itself.

“Since I was 12, I received a white rose on my birthday every year. There was never a card or a letter. The flower deliveryman was unable to say who it came from. After a couple of years, I finally gave up searching for the sender and simply was happy about the wonderful gifts.

But I never stopped imagining who the sender could have been. Some of my most beautiful day dreams were pondering the identity: was it someone who was fascinated by me, but too shy to show it? An eccentric that secretly wanted to do some good? Maybe even a boy that I liked? It was wonderful to warm myself with such thoughts on rainy days.

My mom often spent time guessing with me. She even enjoyed it. She asked if I had ever done a favor for someone, who secretly wanted to pay me back - the next-door neighbor whose groceries I had carried inside, or the grandpa whose mail I brought during the winter for example. Mom had always stimulated my imagination, because it was important to her that I was creative and felt loved. It was important to her that I also give this feeling to others.

But we had to go through some rough times. One month before my graduation, my father died from a stroke. My feelings fluctuated between grief, loneliness, fear, and anger since he would miss all the important things in my life from that time on. I lost all interest in going to my graduation and prom, even though I was so excited after so many years.

My mother did not want to hear it, even though she also mourned deeply. On the day before my dad died, we went shopping together and bought a dress for prom, that was unbelievably beautiful, but just a bit too big. On the horrible next day, I had completely forgotten. But my mother hadn’t. On the day before prom, she laid the dress on my bed, in the right size.

It was always important to her, how I felt. She taught us, that even in the worst of situations, that there was always something worthy of our love. Deep down, we want to look exactly like a rose: tender, strong, with a magic and slightly mysterious aura.

But unfortunately, mom died when I was 22 years old, just a few days after my wedding. After this year, I never got a white rose again on my birthday.”

If you forgot to wish your mother a happy Mother’s Day, it isn’t to late to show her how much you care. Perhaps with a white rose? Share this touching story.

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