The smell of roses

Here I sit, late at night, smelling fresh cut roses. We have dozens of roses throughout our house right now. Doz-ens. You would think some one had just won the Miss America pageant or something. But this is a memory I want to keep forever. The smell of fresh roses permeating my mother's house. It's a smell I always want to associate with her, and the feeling of love and appreciation I have for her. I don't want to seem sappy, and use all the usual stereotypical euphamisms about roses, and thorns, and whatnot, I just want a simple, fresh, beautiful smell to keep her memory in my heart forever. I want the smell to bring to life the wonderful family times we've shared this last few days. The "Elizabeth Smarticle", and "A-Prayer-Ican Idol". The tears of joy and utter devastation that have flowed freely from each and every one of us. I want this wonderful smell to help me to remember my mother, and her way of making even the most upset visitor laugh, and leave her room with a smile on their face, and her imprint on their heart. I vow to always go back to these wonderfully tragic days each and every time I smell a fresh cut rose.