The Lessons Life Teaches, A Collection of Short Stories.

The Rose Gardener

Hi kids, How are you all today?Nice of you to stop by. You say you'd like to hear another one of my stories? But you've heard that one so many times before. Hey, look, here comes my wife down the driveway with Cokes and chips - enough for all. 

Thank you dear. I love you so. You want to sit in the shade of the tree and listen, too?Well ... ok.

 Not so long ago, I knew a man who liked to dig and plant. When he held a shovel or a rake in his hands - he always seemed so content and honestly, his face seemed to glow. When I was about your age, I asked him why he worked so diligently. He would then break out with a warm, calm, unhurried grin. Take off his weather beaten and sweat stained hat. Wipe the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. Then hold his hat with both hands before him, and then tell you an unhurried story, short poem, or talk with you with patient attentiveness, slight nods of understanding and respect, not usually afforded to a young kid like me. 

When I was younger, I quite enjoyed the long stories. One I remember was of a man and his wife who lived by the ocean shore. He was content with life but his wife always wished for more. Well, let's save the rest of that one for another time. As I got older, I spent less and less time visiting with this old, rather odd man. Who had nothing more constructive to do with his life than dig in the dirt, grow a few bushes and tell some childish stories. Stories that he enjoyed telling much more than I enjoyed hearing. 

Well, when I was nearly fifty. I had toiled very hard making a living. I had worked for more than thirty years, long into the night and on nearly every weekend and most holidays. At times, I hardly knew the names of those I loved and used to call my friends. But one late Thursday afternoon I got a call at work on my cell phone from one of the kids I had grown up with. He told me some news, that at first I shrugged off, and even wondered why he had called with something so trivial as an old man dying. I mean we all have to go sometime and admittedly, there was a lot of work to be done before the final presentation tomorrow. 

I honestly can't tell you why. But the next morning, I called into work and said, I had to take care of some personal business and would they cover for me at the meeting. In my memory, I had never done that before that day. I found myself in my new Volvo driving back home where I had grown up - many years before. That afternoon, I attended a church service for a man I hadn't even thought about for nearly twenty years.

 Kind words were said, and then some stories, told by his friends, with a chuckle now and again. I noticed his wife sitting in the front - off to the right side. I was surprised to see she wasn't crying or for that matter even looking sad at her loss. She still had that warm glowing smile, that I remember from my youth. Her brow was slightly arched. The wrinkles weren't as deep as you would expect and her gray hair was long for an older woman. Not fixed up, but neatly brushed and flowing. She wasn't dressed in black, but had an old blue print dress, I remember she had worn to church on Sundays when I was young. I remember the suit her husband had worn to church also. A dark, pin-striped one, without a vest. White shirt, a tie with flowers on it, and black wing-tip shoes. I even remember the "Bee" tie tack his son had given to him. He used to say these were his "Sunday go-to-meet'n clothes."

When I refocused and looked about me, it seemed that everyone present did not mourn. They seemed quite content knowing that he had gone on ahead of them to be with Jesus and one of his two boys, that had died earlier in a car accident. I was quite sure they felt the loss for not being able to see and talk with him in his yard, at the grocery store, the annual neighborhood picnic or around town. But they all seemed to understand that it wouldn't be too long till they were with him again and hear his warm caring voice, see his contented smile, and listen once again to one of their favorite stories.

After the songs had been sung, after the stories had been told and after the minister's message had been given. The line began to form - to pay their last respect to this gentle soul. I swear every single member of this town was there and some folks I hadn't seen for a long time, who had left much earlier than I had. Everyone was dressed in their best ... the respect for this man was evident in every ones attitude and even in the way they dressed.

When I finally approached the front and stood before this now silent man - I unconsciously knelt before the coffin and said a quiet prayer. No one in line seemed to mind the delay. I raised up slowly and looked at my old mentor and friend. And an uncontrollable smile came to my face. There he was in his old kaki pants, long sleeve gardening shirt, with that weathered old hat held with both hands on his waist. He looked just like I remembered when he was warming up to one of his stories. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was wearing those muddy old work boots with the little hole in one side. I'm sure that he had requested to be dressed this way. I quite believe that he wanted to be dressed right, just in-case God wanted him to help out digging, raking, weeding or pruning in that big rose garden he always believed must be in heaven. I can still remember him saying, "Why would God not have anything as beautiful and fragrant as rose bushes in heaven." "By Golly, I bet heaven is filled with rose gardens." "And, I can't think of anything better that spending eternity helping the head gardener care for 'em." 

As I was considering all this I looked into his wizened, faded, gentle face. Then, I swear, it seemed to me that he opened his eyes, looked at me winked with his right eye, smiled warmly and then closed his eyes again. I looked to the lady patiently standing after me. I wanted to say - Did you see that!? But she had been watching, and didn't look startled and had apparently not seen what I thought had happened. I then realized that although his body was now lifeless, his spirit was very much alive and he wished to let me know that I was very special to him, and with a bright flash of understanding, that he was also very special to me. I walked by his home after the service to give me a chance to recall the past, the present and my future. There I felt his strong presence. I could picture him there and could even see me standing there listening intently to his stories of life. The roses were the prettiest, I can ever recall.

Driving home, the memories continued to flood back and I began to cry. I asked myself questions about my life most beginning and ending with the word why. When I got home after what seemed to be a timeless journey. My wife met me in the driveway and asked if I was OK. Said my boss had called her - that I wouldn't be able work this weekend - that I had sounded a little strange - even a bit giddy. Not a word often associated with me. I said, I hope she didn't mind, I traded my car for this old pickup truck on the way home, at a kid's used-car lot that I had grown up with. He had said, it wasn't a good trade for me - a new Volvo for an old dented truck. I had told him it was the best trade I had ever made. He seemed to understand. On the way home, I purchased a rake and a shovel and got some potted roses at the nursery and put them in the truck bed. Stopped at the Army-Navy store and bought some kaki pants and some long sleeve shirts. My wife looked long and hard at me, with narrowed eyes, and then much to my surprise gave me a big, warm, hug - that brought back memories of when we had first met. My son came out from the house to see what was going on. He looked bewildered at first, then I saw an expansive grin, that I had never seen there before. "Is the truck yours!?" Yes, but ours, not mine. I don't think he had ever seen me dressed like that. But he seemed very comfortable with the person in those clothes. Much more so than the suited, grumpy, irritable man he had known before. I said how about grabbing a few potted roses and I'll get the new shovel and rake. Maybe we can save some worms and go fishing Sunday after church. He seemed a bit confused ... but I assure you he liked it. 

Well, kids there you are. I've told you my story again. Jerry, Fred, Larry and Ken, I hope you will remember these words and avoid the trap that I fell in - long ago. But if you do, keep in mind, that no matter how old you are - you can always begin again.