The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.
~Audrey Hepburn

Do you believe a single yellow rose can change someone’s life? I do. On a cold November night, I flew into the Denver International Airport after spending a week in my hometown. I always knew I’d go home again someday, but I just had not been ready. It was the place where Richard and I grew up. We had met in first grade, started dating as teenagers, married, raised three children, and lived the company-transfer-lifestyle of the 1970s. We eventually settled in Colorado.

Richard’s untimely death the previous year changed my life, and revisiting our hometown by myself was a frightening idea. However, the members of my grief support group encouraged me to take the big step, so I called my daughter and asked, “Would you get me reservations for a week in Iowa in November?”

Before I left Denver, I arranged for my daughter to pick me up at the Denver Airport on Saturday evening. When I called to confirm the time of my arrival, she announced, “Bob D. wants to meet you outside Door 4 by the baggage claim area thirty minutes after you land.”

Hmm, that’s a surprise, I thought. I wonder why Bob wants to pick me up. Bob had been a good friend. In fact, he and his wife had participated in a Bible study group with us, and Richard and Bob had been golfing buddies. Richard had often commented, “Bob is a really nice guy. You should get to know him better.”

And I did get to know him better. After our spouses had died within two months of each other, we joined the same grief support group. I discovered why Richard had admired Bob, and because of his kindness, generosity and gentle spirit, he became a good friend and a fellow griever. The week before I left for Iowa, Bob had called and asked, “Since I lost my golfing buddy, would you join me for eighteen holes of golf this afternoon?” He and I discovered laughing and teasing each other was something new for two people who were used to crying together. “Sometimes, I just go to the mall and walk around to be with other people,” Bob had told me.

Because of his comments, I wasn’t totally surprised about his phone call to my daughter. He could kill some time on a lonely Saturday evening and meet a friend at the airport.

That’s when more life-changing events began. On Saturday evening, I stepped out of Door 4, pulling my suitcase. Bob gave me a quick hug, grabbed the case with one hand, and opened the passenger door with the other. While he walked to the back of the car to deposit my luggage, I turned to get into the car. There, lying on the passenger’s seat, was a single yellow rose.

“Bob, you brought this for me?” I asked in surprise.

“I thought it was appropriate to bring a rose for my friend,” he answered. Then he looked at me and smiled. “I missed you.”

I was at a loss for words. Hmm, is something different here? Do I want something to be different between us? What do I say?

“How about stopping and getting something to eat?” Bob asked before I could comment.

“Okay,” I said, thinking we’d probably stop at a fast-food restaurant on the way to my house.

“Would you like to go to that little café in Parker? It’s a nice place with good food,” he suggested.

Uh-oh, I thought. And very appropriate for private conversations. What’s wrong with me? It’s my friend Bob. All the while, I was holding my single yellow rose. Still a bit dazed by the turn of events, I inadvertently carried it into the restaurant.

During the previous year in our support group, Bob and I had shared our honest feelings about everything connected with the loss of a spouse, including our anger and disappointment in unanswered prayer. After we settled into a cozy booth, we spent two hours talking about our families, our desire to follow God’s will, and our anxiety regarding the future. We were both in our mid-sixties, and we didn’t want to stop living. We each had a bucket list of adventures to experience and places we wanted to see.

Wow, are we talking about us? I wondered. This is Bob, my friend, my buddy. But there was the single yellow rose in my lap. “We’ve both suffered tremendous loss this past year. Whatever the future holds, I hope neither of us gets hurt,” I commented.

We had always greeted each other and said goodbye with a hug. That night, we hugged a little longer than usual, and it felt good.

“How would you like to go to a movie?” Bob asked me the following weekend.

“Is this called a date?” I asked. “You need to know you’re talking a foreign language,” I added.

“The same goes for me,” Bob laughed. “Wow, I’m going on a date in my sixties!”

Yes, that night was the beginning of a new life for Bob and me. During the next several months, we became a couple. Bob’s sons lived miles away. However, Bob kept them apprised of our new “dating” relationship. “We are so happy for you two,” was the constant reaction from family and friends.

Since we were very aware of our new motto, “treasure the moment,” seven months later, we chose to get married with our children and grandchildren surrounding us. I carried a small bouquet of yellow roses.

“Do you ever regret remarrying when you were in your sixties?” my friend Linda asked me four years ago.

“Never!” I answered. “There are still times of adjustment and compromise, but it’s all worth it. We’ve discovered new hobbies like traveling in a motorhome, spending time at Bob’s cabin on the lake in upstate New York, and rounds of golf in new places. We even played at St Andrews in Scotland. Now that we’ve moved into our seventies, we’ve learned sitting side by side in our recliners is also a good way to spend an evening.”

And it was, until September 2017. Fatigue and weakness in his legs, arms and hands had plagued Bob for over a year. Finally, a neurologist gave us the bad news: “We have ruled out all other possibilities. You have ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease, and it is fatal.”

Our love for each other, our faith in God, the prayers and support from our families and friends sustained us during Bob’s last months. We often told each other, “I’m glad we decided to get married. It’s been a wonderful fourteen years.”

Yes, a single yellow rose changed my life when I was in my sixties. However, my life has changed once more. Several months ago, our families and friends gathered to celebrate Bob’s life. Once again, I carried a single yellow rose.

— Betty Johnson Dalrymple —