My husband knows this.
My son does too!
So sometimes on special occasions and random "just because" days, when the boys want to surprise me and show me love, I'll find some yellow roses on the table, usually with a cute little red-head peeking out from behind them with a big ol' grin on his face.
They know I love them! But I'm not sure even they know why.
I can remember very distinctly the first time I fell in love with yellow roses... at a time and place that may not make a lot of sense to anyone else. The first time I can remember seeing yellow roses was at my grand-daddy's funeral.
I was probably about 7 when my grand-daddy died, and it totally rocked my little world. I adored my grand-daddy, thought the sun rose and set with him, and when he died I was devastated. I don't remember much about the day of his funeral. I remember crying so hard and for so long that one of my aunts finally physically removed me from the room with his casket because she thought I was having a breakdown of some sort. I remember how waxy and un-life-like my always vivacious grand-daddy looked laying in that satin-lined box. I remember that he had on make-up, which I thought was scandalous and weird. And I remember the huge spray of flowers on his casket.
Yep, you guessed it... Yellow roses.
A gigantic (to my eyes) arrangement of sunny yellow that smelled heavenly. There were beautiful wide yellow ribbons intertwined in the flowers that said "Husband" and "Father" and "Grand-Daddy" in golden, glittery letters. (I still have the "Grand-Daddy" ribbon in a scrapbook). It was the most flowers I had ever seen in my life up to that point.
I thought it was gorgeous.
Maybe because everything else was so gray and sad and subdued, those yellow flowers made me feel better somehow. Calmer. Happier.
It was a hard, sad day. The first of many days like it in my life. But I have loved yellow roses ever since.
I have been given yellow roses by my boyfriend, my fiance, and my husband (yes... all the same guy!) I've been given yellow roses by my son. By my friends. By my parents. By my in-laws.
I've been given yellow roses on happy days, like graduations and Valentine's Day and Mother's Day and my birthday and the day my son was born.
I've been given yellow roses on sad days, like when I was sick and after surgeries and on emotionally hard infertility days and after my mom died.
I carried yellow roses on my wedding day... and then drove to the cemetery afterward to lay my wedding bouquet on my mother's grave.
I love yellow roses. They make me happy... or happier, even when I'm sad. They are the splash of color that make even the grayest days a little brighter. And they speak love and friendship and hope to me more than just about any other tangible thing.
Aren't they beautiful?