At the time my son was born in 1956, I shared a hospital room with a young woman who bore a son on the same day. Partly because my parents owned a flower shop, the room was soon filled with the lovely smell of roses.

However, when the seventh bunch of flowers was brought in, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, for no flowers had arrived for my roommate, Ann. She sat on her bed, admiring the latest flowers in my vase. She was a pretty young woman, yet there was something about her large, brown eyes that made me think she had known too much struggling, too much sadness for one so young. I had the feeling that she had always had to admire someone else's flowers.

…

…

…

 

>> 网页版功能未完善，完整内容，请使用微信小程序。