What was the color of the rose that was flattened between the pages of my mother's book? Surely my father would know, but his memory had long since left. A rose of all colors, buds, blossoms and withers away. In its days, look at the love it brought to its home. Such was my father, Jose Luis Gonzalez.
My father died today. In the blossom he loved to drink and smoke, laugh and cuss, work and play, but above all, love his way. Coffee at Brownie's, work at Houston Photo, and beer at Eagles. To him Yuma was his world, like a garden to a rose. Such a beautiful strong man, it's hard to believe he loved the roses. In the withering, the fight and anger had long since left him. The love for his town and people and most of all his family, remained. Just a peaceful contentment could be felt by everyone he touched. I lived every day with him, 3 years now, and now I know the color of the rose. LOVE.
