Does anyone know this story????????????

This story that i am looking for was mentioned in a story in "chicken soup for the gardeners soul" the story was called "The golden girls" the story was about two woman who although they were complete opposites became best friends, and they became divorced at around the same time, oddly enough one of the womans sister and child hood friends also became divorced, and they all became great friends hence the name "Golden Girls" one of the original best friends became fatally ill and on a car ride one daythey remembered a story about two friends where one became fatally ill and the friend who was ill said to the other friend "you'll remember won't you?" (about the story) and the friends said " i will, i promise" and then later on in the story it was a year later on the day that the friend had passed away and the friend noticed a flower growing in the middle of a hard frost, when all the other flowers had died, it budded and blossomed into a a beautiful flower the size of a carnation.

Does anyone know this story????????????
Here you go, enjoy.



The Golden Girls

By Linda O'Connell



Rose and I met when we were in our mid-twenties. I

had invited her daughter to my daughter's third birthday

party, and Rose came along. We scrutinized each other and

assessed the obvious differences. She was a smoker; I

wasn't. I dressed conservatively; she didn't. She wore a

long, black flowing wig whenever she tired of her short

frosted hair; I wore the same "flip" hairstyle for years.

But we became best friends.

Despite our differences, we wore a path from my house

to hers (sometimes in our fuzzy robes), borrowing sugar,

guzzling coffee, sharing baked goods and details of our

lives. For 12 years, we went to yard sales, fast-food

restaurants, playgrounds and school events together.

Rose and I stayed best friends during tough times, as

well. Both of us had turbulent marriages. One summer,

both marriages finally fell apart. Coincidentally, Rose's

sister Millie ended her marriage about the same time, and

so did Rose's childhood friend, Judy.

The four of us became known as The Golden Girls. We

discovered a neighborhood club with an outdoor patio, and

we spent that summer sipping soda and dancing together to

old-time rock and roll.

After that summer, we calmed down a bit. As we

created new lives for ourselves, we saw less of each other.

Eventually, Rose and I attended each other's weddings, and

we visited together at family gatherings and holiday

celebrations. Each time, it was as if we'd never been

apart.

At my daughter's baby shower, I noticed that Rose's

one-of-a-kind laugh seemed hoarse. She told me she'd had a

persistent cough for weeks. Soon, diagnostic tests

indicated a mass in her lung. Exploratory surgery revealed

a large inoperable malignancy. I visited Rose in the

intensive care unit afterward.

"I love you," I told my friend, realizing it was the

first time I had said the words aloud.

"I love you, too," she said groggily, sealing our

bond.

After Rose recovered from surgery, I took her for

radiation treatment. We held hands in the waiting room.

When our eyes met, they brimmed with tears. On the drive

home we talked about this life and the afterlife. And we

talked about a story we'd both read many, many years

before, about two friends, one of whom was terminally ill.

"You'll remember that story, won't you?" Rose asked.

"I will," I promised.

The Golden Girls reunited. Millie, Judy and I spent

countless hours with Rose. We took her shopping and

dining. We humored her when her medication gave her

hallucinations. When she became incapacitated, we visited

her at home in shifts. I fluffed her pillows, brought her

doughnuts, massaged her feet and colored in coloring books

with her.

Rose spent the last week of her life in the hospital,

heavily sedated, surrounded by loved ones. At 51, her

breathing ceased and our mourning began.

A year followed, and I thought of Rose often. One

cold November morning, as I left for work, I saw something

pink protruding from a drift of decaying leaves. I cleared

the debris and gasped in disbelief at a flower bud. During

the summer I had planted a tiny, three-inch potted azalea,

hoping it would grow into a bush. It hadn't grown at all

and had never flowered. But here on this frosty Missouri

morning, with the rest of the garden killed by a hard

frost, the azalea bloomed.

I thought about Rose all day, and that afternoon, I

called her daughter.

"Denise, can you come by after work?" I asked. "I

have a surprise from your mom."

When I got home, I checked the azalea again. The tiny

pink bud had opened completely and blossomed to the size of

a carnation.

That evening, Denise came to my door. She looked just

like Rose.

"You're not going to believe this," I said. I told

Denise about the conversation Rose and I had had after her

radiation therapy.

"Twenty years ago, your mom and I read a story about

two best friends. One was terminally ill. She vowed to

make a flower bloom in winter to prove there was an

afterlife. Your mom and I discussed that story and made a

pact that day."

I led Denise to the backyard and showed her my azalea,

blooming in winter. Denise and I laughed, embraced, stared

in disbelief and cried tears of joy.

"This couldn't have come at a better time," Denise

said, wiping her eyes. "It's been almost a year since Mom

passed away. You've taken away so much of my sadness.

Thank you."

During the next week I watched in amazement as three

more flowers bloomed fully. I called Millie and Judy and

told them about the plant I nicknamed The Golden Girls,

with one blossom for each of us. We rejoiced at the

message from our friend. Incredibly, the plant thrived for

two weeks, surviving snow, wind and chill. Then, the

flowers gradually withered and died, completing the cycle

of life. But they left behind a vivid memory and a message

for all us Golden Girls that true friendship never dies.
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