Tuesday, January 16, 2018

The Color of Love

November 19, 2010 by  
Filed under Monthly Articles

Mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance.
Jude 1:2 NIV

Just the other day one of my friends ask why I loved yellow roses so much. She surprised me and I
didn’t know how to answer.

“Teri, I really don’t know?” I answered without any tangible thought to her question. I hadn’t thought about the reason’s why. I’m not particularly fond of yellow, in fact purple is my favorite color. I began to question myself. Why did I love yellow roses?

My “obsession” with yellow roses started thirty-four years ago when I was fifteen. Yellow roses were my daddy’s favorite flower. I never cared for them until about a month after he passed away. Daddy had been sick about two years before he died. Mama didn’t know he had cancer until it was too late. By the time the doctor’s found the cancer daddy was very ill, but he always made
time for his “baby doll”.

The doctor’s wanted to stop the cancer from spreading to his already rail-thin body. Daddy was admitted to the hospital for aggressive treatment. Mama and I visited him daily. Daddy tried to be upbeat, but the radiation had made him weak and groggy. It tore me up inside to see “my daddy” who had always been strong and virile languish from the cancer that attacked his body physically.

My emotions were like a time bomb ready to explode. My coping mechanism ceased to function and

I shut down. Daddy and I had always been close and I couldn’t deal with the stress of watching him die. In my teenage wisdom I chose to run away from home. I knew mama would be furious. I wasn’t thinking. I just had to get far away from death’s door.

I was gone two days. I couldn’t stop thinking about daddy. I had to get back to the hospital. My daddy needed me!
When I arrived I went straight to his room. I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. Would mama be angry? Would daddy scold me?

I walked into the stark hospital room. It smelled of disinfectant and death. Daddy was sitting up, talking with my aunts and in good spirits. They stopped talking and all eyes were on me as I approached daddy.

Tears began to fall . I leaned down and kissed daddy’s bald head.

“Daddy,” I cried. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

He placed his feeble arms around me and whispered in my ear. “Baby doll, I love you. No matter what you did I will always love and forgive you.”

My tears wouldn’t stop. Daddy continued to hold me. My heart broke into a million pieces and the shards pierced my soul. I had to face reality this gentle man would never comfort me again .

Daddy died that day. Before he took his last breath, he pointed toward the window.

“What it is Daddy?”

“See there Baby Doll,” he whispered.

“Where Daddy?” I didn’t see anything.

“Outside the window. The angels are waiting for me.”

Of course I didn’t see the angels, but I knew they were waiting to take daddy home. He would now be in a better place without suffering.

Two days later mama and I buried daddy. On his casket lay a spray of yellow roses. I missed daddy and couldn’t bear being without him in my life.

I tried to go onward. I grieved and began to rebel. Mama was at her wit’s end with me.

The pain of losing daddy continued to forge its way into my daily life. I became depressed,refused to go to school and stopped socializing with my friends. The one month anniversary of his death was fast approaching. I became even more withdrawn. It also happened to be the date my parents adopted me.

When daddy was alive he and mama would throw a special birthday party to celebrate the day they brought me home. Now with daddy gone my “half-birthday” celebrations would cease. Mama
would not want to celebrate. It was no longer my day. Every twenty-seventh on the calender would become a day to mourn.

May 27th arrived without any thought to my feelings. I tried to wish it away , but I knew I couldn’t. Mama was going through so much pain I stayed out of her way. I didn’t mention anything about my “birthday” celebration.

I busied myself around the house. I didn’t want to think about anything. I wanted my mind to be n void of any cheerful thoughts. How could I be full of joy? My daddy was gone.

I was in my room when mama knocked on the door.

“Can I come in?”

We had barely spoken to each other since daddy passed. I just wanted her to go away.

“I guess.”

She entered my room and sat on the bed.

“What do you want mama?” I ask in a hateful tone.

“I thought we could ride to the cemetery today and visit daddy.”

I wanted to scream leave me alone, but I knew mama needed to go see daddy.

I needed to go see daddy.

I got up and hugged mama. “I love you mama.”

On the way to the cemetery mama stopped by the florist. I was puzzled.

“Why are we stopping here?”

“Your daddy left something special for you.”

“I don’t understand mama?”

Mama told me to go inside. I got out of the car, walked into the florist and told the lady behind the counter who I was.

She ask me to wait a minute, walked into the back room and came out with a dozen yellow roses. The florist handed me the flowers. I read the card. “Baby Doll, I’m no longer with you on earth, but remember I’m always in your heart. I love you, Daddy.”

Daddy did remember my “birthday”. He gave me his yellow roses. Daddy gave me the color of love.

Debra Elliott is a Christian wife, mother, grandmother and author. She has published two poetry books . Debra has written an online Christian column about the affects of abortion. She is also contributing author in Heavenly Humor for the Cat Lovers Soul.

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2 Responses to “The Color of Love”
  1. Debra, That was a beautiful and very heartwarming story. Thank you for sharing your Daddy’s love for you. It reminded me so much of our Heavenly Father’s love for all of us. Whenever. I see a yellow rose, I will think of your testimony.

    Blessings, Elaine

  2. Beautiful and heartwarming.