Monday, January 14, 2019
THE STORY BEHIND THIS: This is a page from a small book in which different writers have shared their various thoughts on roses. I have kept that book, among several others, at my bedside for many years. So many times in our life, my late husband Bob had seen me browsing through that book--no bigger than the size of an outstretched hand.
One morning a few years ago, in the days before his death, I found him reading that book. He was a gardener who read many gardening books; and of course he loved my rose gardens. But I was surprised to see him reading this book; infused with poetry as it was, and not containing one garden stat or suggestion.
"Have you read this again recently?" he asked me, and I admitted I hadn't. "Well, you should," he said with a smile as he tucked that book back into my small group of favorite contemplative books.
Before that week was over, my Bob was gone and that book still lay where he had set it. Until now.
ON THIS VERY cold morning, January 14, 2019, I lingered under warm covers and reached for that book. It fell instantly open to a page that had been dog-eared... DOG-EARED!?! Bob knew I never dog-eared my books!
I knew this had been purposely done by my Bob so I would find it. It was what he'd been reading intently that morning during his illness, and so I read slowly, with purpose...
I looked again at the penciled, one-line scrawl at the top of the page. Bob's writing was illegible to most, but oh so familiar to me... the little scrawled notes left for me to discover through our 57 years of marriage... small, impulsive notes, often only one line, sometimes written in humor and always written with love...
If you can't read this dear scrawl, I'm printing it for you: "This is about you and me.--Bob"
THIS WAS NO headline. It was Bob's commentary. With that one handwritten line, he had made the whole printed page his own love letter for me to discover.