Body Content:
He loved flowers, especially after his wife passed away, he began to love roses, because she loved flowers, especially roses, when she was alive. Raising roses became a big part of his life every day, besides going to work and taking care of the kids.
Deliver the reason for liking roses.
Son is growing up day by day, from just crawling at first to playing in the yard by himself. The roses bloomed and bloomed and bloomed and bloomed again, repeating the process of opening and dying over and over again.
On this day, he and his son sat next to the roses in the yard, looking up at the night sky and counting the stars in the sky. As the child was still young, he waved his little hand naughtily, and was accidentally stabbed by the thorns of the roses, and screamed "OMG". Strangely, my son didn't cry, but turned to his father and asked, "Why do all the other kids have moms and can go to their moms when they're hurt and bleeding? Where's my mommy?"
He thought his son would ask this question one day, so he smiled and said, "Good son, mom is right beside you!" The son, like a long two-headed man, nodded his head with his index finger, his eyes in a daze. When he saw the brightly colored rose bush, he seemed to understand, and then shouted as he ran, "I have a mommy! I'm going to tell them that the roses are my mommy!"
So that's what the roses were for...?
"The roses are mom," he said, surprised at his son's reaction, "Yeah, the roses are her: loved and nagged all her life." He smiled, a smile that had once been reserved for her.
From then on, every day when he watered the roses and loosened the soil, he would always add, "Darling, our son has grown taller again, and he knows more than any other child."
A few more years passed, and our son went to middle school. Every day when he came home from school, his son always ran to the side of the bush with a smile on his face and said softly, "Mom, I'm home." He and his wife and son are a harmonious family of three.
"? The son always has a smile on his face."?
After a few more decades, he finally grew old and his son became a family man. He can not, before dying its eyes staring straight out of the window, the hand seems to want to grab what. The son understood his father's mind and picked a rose and brought it to his father's hand. He struggled to turn his head to look at the brightly colored blooming rose, reached out to take, just touched the flower but suddenly retracted - his hand was under the thorns of the flower stabbed a little. My son then realized that he had forgotten to remove the thorns in his haste.
When the son reached for the flower, he suddenly saw a look in his father's eyes that seemed to impede him from doing so, and he retracted his hand again.
He used his last ounce of strength to hold the rose in his hand, his eyes slowly closed, his breath coming weaker and weaker, but the corner of his mouth kept hanging a smile of satisfaction, as if to say, "I'm coming."