关于友谊的英文小故事

真正的朋友,是我们一生的财富。下面小编为大家整理的关于友谊的英文小故事，希望对大家有用!

关于友谊的英文小故事

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.“I’m enjoying every minute of this,” she said as though she had read my thoughts. “Wasn’t I the lucky one to get you for a roommate?”I still felt uncomfortable, however. If only there were some magic button I could push to take away the sadness in her eyes. Well, I thought, at least I could see that she had some flowers. When my parents came to see me that day, I asked them to send her some.

The flowers arrived just as Ann and I were finishing supper.“Another bunch for you.” she said, laughing.“No, not this time.” I said, looking at the card.Ann stared at the flowers for a long time, not saying anything.“How can I ever thank you?” she said, laughing.The son born to my husband and me that day in 1956 turned out to be our only child. For nearly 21 years he filled our lives with love and laughter, making us feel complete. But on Easter morning, in April 1977, after a long, painful battle with cancer, he died quietly in our arms.At the funeral home I was alone with my son in a room filled with the smell of roses, when a man brought in a small vase with some flowers in it. I didn’t read the card until later, as we rode to the cemetery.“To W. John Graves,” the card said, “From the boy who was born with you at Memorial Hospital, and his mother.”

Only then did I recognize the vase I had given to a young woman so many years ago, now once again filled with roses, Ann and I had lost touch for a long time. She had never known our son, nor his illness. She must have read about his funeral in a newspaper. I passed the card on to my mother sitting beside me. She, too, remembered.“A kindness returned.” Mother said.A few days later, my husband and I, with several members of our family, went to clear John’s grave. The vase with roses in it stood at its foot.“How strange that someone would send something like that to a funeral,”someone said. “It seemed better for a birth.”“There was a birth,” said my husband quietly, “John was born to Heaven.” I looked at him with surprise, knowing those words were difficult for a man who had never spoken openly about such matter.He emptied the vase and handed it to me. I held it, just as Ann had done, thinking of all the messages it contained: friendship, thanks, and the hope that John was born to Heaven, which comforts us now.