Roses

A Story by Anna

Visiting grandma

I skid to a stop as I reach the cemetery. I jump off my bike and pull it down the small gravel path, stopping as I reach Violet Betty Gudren’s gravestone. It is a small one, only about a foot in each direction, and made of shiny granite. I kneel next to my grandmother’s grave, and silently read the words.

Violet Betty Gudren

Born March 1933

Died May 2014

Beloved wife, mother, and grandmother

May she rest in peace

As I finger the detailed engraved rose, I smile sadly, and remember my favorite moment I had with my grandma. We stood near the garden together, laughing and smelling flowers. I was only nine then, but I remember it as though it happened yesterday. I wrapped my finger around a rose stem and pulled it out, pricking my finger, although not enough to draw blood. “Ow, gramma! That hurt me!” I had said, rubbing my fingers to my leg.

She smiled wisely, and took the prickly flower from me. “Let me tell you something about roses, dear. A rose is exactly like life. The thorns on the stem represent challenges in your life.” I nodded, listening intently.

“But, if you care for the rose properly, and handle the problems in your life well, you will be happy. Like the flower. The rose is a beautiful flower, although many do not realize this, just because of the thorns. Do you see how that is like life?” I nodded again, and from that day, we had a special bond.

When grandma died, devastation had overcome me. She was my companion, we could love and understand each other like magic.

Now I realize that grandma dying was like a prickle on a rose, and if I deal with it, life will go on; I will be happy.

I place a freshly cut rose next to the stone, feeling the velvety red petals. Many people cry when they visit a deceased loved one, but not I. I smile and bid grandma a loving farewell.