The Rose

August 24, 2008
Every year my father and I would go pick a rose from the rosebush we planted behind the barn. It was our father/daughter tradition. One year my father got very ill and he couldn’t even get out of bed. All that year my mother refused to leave my father’s side. Being the oldest daughter of nine I became in charge of all the household chores. My oldest brother, Josh, would take my father’s place working on the farm. The house became very quiet.

It was Christmas Eve and my father was at his worst conditions and he said to me “Annabelle go pick our rose.” Those were his last words. I had completely forgotten about the rose. Even though it was almost January and normally all the roses would be gone I put on my boots and coat and went outside. Five minutes later I was standing in front of the rosebush that my father and I planted when I was just a little toddler. I pushed away the snow and saw the most beautiful rose ever.

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