Friday, 5 February 2010

A Rose is a Rose

My Darling Eileen

It's just over a week since your funeral and at last the high emotions, but not the memories of that day are beginning to subside.

There's a single rose, pale pink in colour, on the desk beside me as I write.  It's one I kept back from my wreath to you last week.  A week on it is now rather faded, I'm afraid, unlike my love for you which is as strong as ever.

Knowing how much you liked flowers - and roses in particular - when it came to my wreath, it was an easy choice.  Remember back to last autumn, when things were not getting any easier for you?  Every day I would pick a few fresh roses from the garden and put them in a vase and bring them up to our bedroom.

The sight of them never failed to bring a smile to your face.  Especially the really pale pink ones from the bush beside the patio door.  I have just been out to check this morning and it is already starting to bud. 

Sadly you won't be here to see it when it blooms this year.  But I promise I will keep picking roses from the garden and bring them indoors to remind me of you constantly - and of the simple single pink rose you carried on the day we got married.  

I have lots and lots of things to tell you about, since you left us. 

But I haven't forgotten that you always preferred brief little notes to long rambling one, so I'll try and keep them that way in future.

Will write again soon.

Missing you so much my love,

Trevor xxx