I love my wife more than my roses

John sat at the end of the dinner table with a pen and pad drawing and writing in a notebook. He smiled at his wife with quiet admiration when eating breakfast looking up and down at her. They had shared their breakfast together for nearly thirty years. She asked him what are you drawing. He said just doodling. She smiled went on with her housework.

John had been very ill and the doctors sent him home to be in his own surroundings with his family and garden, but soon was taken back to bed again with his illness.
One morning he said I need to tell you something. You need to listen he said. I knew what he was going to say, the words I had been dreading. He said I need to tell you. When I was in hospital I think I died, but I was brought back. I was grief stricken. I knew it was true and couldn't tell him they had worked on him and brought him back, but I had to confess that it was true and I knew. I thought I was going to collapse talking about this subject. I ran over to him he grabbed me in his arms and said I don't want you to worry about this, it didn't hurt, I did not feel anything, I think I am going to be alright now, I was so afraid but I am not anymore. You have to pull yourself together and get through what is ahead. He wrapped his arms around me with such intensity and passion I could hardly breath. He was so strong and didn't want to let me go, but finally did. We said nothing after this.
A couple of weeks later it was my birthday, he made an effort and dressed up to celebrate my birthday, we had a lovely dinner but he was still very ill. Two days later he was gone forever. Too soon we thought he would last longer.
I felt numb from the shock of John's passing and one morning when to his chest of drawers in the bedroom and he had left me a most wonderful drawing of roses with a bee and a message in his notebook "I love my wife more than my roses".

Anonymous