It was a Wednesday afternoon in July, and I was due to work a shift at the hospice Care Center that evening.  My rose bushes were in full bloom and producing an exceptional number of roses that summer.  I had struggled for years to get rose bushes to take on that side of my back deck and had finally found the right type of rose that would flourish in that highly exposed, southern facing flower bed.  It was the most fragrant strain of roses I had ever encountered.  

As I trimmed the rose bushes that afternoon, I decided to bring a bunch of roses in for the nurses’ station at the Care Center.  When I arrived, a nurse sitting at the front desk commented on how beautiful the roses were and how they smelled just like Sandy, the patient in room 203.  With that, I apologized to the nurse and told her I should probably take them down to room 203 and see if they might serve Sandy somehow.  When I entered Sandy’s room, I noticed that she was unresponsive.  Her daughter was sitting bedside and greeted me as I approached her.  When she saw the flowers in my hand, she gasped.  She then said to me “Do you know what kind of roses those are?”.  I said that I didn’t remember the name of them, but that they had the most beautiful aroma, and I thought her mother might appreciate them. The daughter then said “Those are Double-Delight roses.  They are one of the most fragrant roses in the world and the strain is used to make the perfume that my mother has worn for years!”.  I placed the vase on the bedside table and left the room. 

Sandy died peacefully, the following day.