2 dozens of roses

ben

It was All Saint’s Day at that time. I went to the market to buy 2 dozens of roses to be placed at the coffin of my deceased father. I picked the best flowers—those that were half-bloomed but big petals so that they would blossom beautifully after some hours or days. It had become a tradition. I had done it for 10 years because my mother coerced me to do it when November 1 came.

My heart was bitten to what my spiritual mother told me when I was younger. She told me once that expressing love to someone who is still alive is far better than to a person who is six feet under.

So, one time, when my mother was cooking for dinner of no special occasion, I surprised her by giving a dozen of red roses. She exclaimed, “You don’t need to. It is not my birthday. I am not yet dead.” I insisted, “Now, that you are still well and healthy, I want to express how much I love you by these roses. I love you, Mom!”