When I was eight, my mom was very sick and very sad, and there was nothing my dad could do to cheer her up. I made her a get-well-soon card, but that didn't work either. All she said was, "There are no roses. . . "
I knew what she was talking about. Not long ago, we lived in a much bigger house, with a large garden full of roses, roses everywhere. Mom loved roses very much. We lived in that house all my life, then when I was six, things went very wrong. Dad's business crashed, and even though he managed to save the company, he had to fire two-thirds of his staff, and we had to sell the big house.
We moved into a smaller house in front of which the earth was dry. The minute she saw it, Mom hated it. "It will be great," Dad comforted her cheerfully. "I'll paint the house on the weekends, and you'll plant your roses!" "Yes," Mom said, forcing a smile. But we could see she was not a bit excited.
"Oh, look. Mom! The neighbor has roses!" I screamed, pointing to the garden next door with thousands of flowers. "That means you can grow roses too!" But Mom wasn't feeling well, and she didn't have the energy to start a new garden.
I sat in our new yard and stared at the neighbor's garden. My neighbor, a kind granny, was out among the roses, wearing a huge hat. She saw me and asked, "What are you doing, looking at my roses?"
"I was just looking," I replied, "They're really beautiful! My mom used to have roses. But my mom is seriously ill now, and she is very sad because she misses her roses. "
"I am so sorry to hear that. But I know you are a good boy. You can pick as many as possible if the flowers can offer your mom some relief. " I hugged granny for her generosity.
The next morning, when the sun rose, everything was ready. I sat on the floor in a corner of my mom's bedroom and waited for her to wake up.
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My mom opened her eyes and sat up slowly and laboriously.
After that, I often assisted my neighbor with her garden.
