This is actually a true story about Jack Benny.
Red Roses for Valentine's Day
Red roses were her favorites, her name was also Rose.
Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say,
She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day.
She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase.
A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate.
She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock.
"I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago,
"There is a standing order, that I have on file down here,
"Then, should ever, I find out that he's no longer here,
Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note.
"I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real.
"You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need.
"When you get these roses, think of all the happiness,
"Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days.
"He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out.
My grandparents were married for over half a century and played their
own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of
their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the
other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.
They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour
containers, to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared
it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio (where my grandma
always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring).
"Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot
shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my
grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper, to leave
"shmily" on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture.
It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my
grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love - one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my
grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than
their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection, with
kisses, as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They
finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle
and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa
was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em."
Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune and each other. But, there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' lives: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But, my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time,
Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and (taking a shaky
breath) he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song
came (a deep and throaty lullaby). Shaking with my own sorrow, I will
never forget that moment. For I knew that (although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love) I had been privileged to witness its' unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You.
Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.
Kristi's story The story of a beautiful young lady, who would not be here today, if her mother would have listened to the doctor, who said she could never be normal.
Last revised on June 14, 2002
Years ago he was type
casted as a tight wad on radio/TV.
He was not a tight wad when it came to what matters
most to him, he actually set up a perpetual fund to have
roses and a note sent to his wife until her death.
And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows.
The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door.
The card said, "Be my Valentine," like all the years before.
"I love you even more this year, than last year on this day."
"My love for you will always grow, with every passing year."
She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.
Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away.
He always liked to do things early, way before the time.
Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.
Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face.
She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair.
While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there.
With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate.
Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before, The doorbell rang,
and there were roses, sitting by her door.
Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop.
The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain,
Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain?
"The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know."
"The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance."
"Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance."
And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year.
There also is another thing, that I think you should know,
He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago."
That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year."
She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard.
Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card.
Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...
"Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone,
I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome."
For if it was the other way, I know how I would feel.
The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life.
I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife."
I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve.
I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears.
That is why the roses will be sent to you for years."
That we had together, and how both of us were blessed.
I have always loved you and I know I always will.
But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still."
I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways.
The roses will come every year, and they will only stop,
When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock."
But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt,
To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him,
And place the roses where we are, together once again."