My Beloved Rose

By Elizabeth Green

“All beautiful things must end. Otherwise they are not beautiful [15].” I’ve read The Alabaster Girl from cover to cover at least a dozen times, and although the pages may age, the words within it never will. This novel always makes me think about my beauteous Rose. I have always struggled to find the right words to describe her everlasting beauty, however Zan Perrion says it perfectly every time.

The soothing sound of the wind-chime swaying in the breeze breaks my tangent. I look up from my novel and there she is, my beloved Rose. With a smirk exposing the wrinkles on my face, I get up from my weathered rocking chair, and slowly walk to the other side of the porch to get a closer look at her. Leaning on the paint-chipped timber rail, I watch in awe as she just sits in the middle of our garden, minding her own business, as she is sun-kissed by the warm Spring morning. “Such wonderful weather we’re having lately, aye Rose?” I call out to her; she softly nods while in a daydream.

Over the past week I’ve noticed Rose hasn’t been quite herself. I mean, I’ve been expecting this day to come, just not so soon. I think she’s aware of what’s happening too, because all day long she just sits in the blossoming garden not saying a single word. Normally she’s full of vibrant colours and ecstatic energy, but today she’s looking slightly dull and disheartened.

I can’t help but reminisce about when I first saw her; so petite and fragile. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, she was just so special, and she stood out from all the rest. It didn’t take long before she opened up to me, and it just made me fall in love with her even more. The more she bloomed, the more I saw of her internal beauty.

But we are old now. She is withering away, as am I. I feel helpless as I watch this precious soul fade away, but I mustn’t interfere with God’s gift to this world. All I can do is appreciate the time we have together, and let her live on through memory.

It saddens me to see her today, and I always dread tomorrow, as each day brings us closer to her last. Poor Rose has become frail and she now sits with a slouch in her back, her colour turned to pastel. I walk through the flourished garden, and kneel down behind her, close enough to get a breath of her perfume.

Being careful not to startle her, I whisper “You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones. Remember this, on this journey you insist on making. If you die, I will not survive without you long [16].” She didn’t reply, she just sat there motionless, staring straight ahead into the distance. I slowly stood and left her in peace.

I struggled to sleep last night, as I feared that Rose’s last day was near. She is deteriorating quicker than I had anticipated. I walked over to the small sunlit kitchen window and there she was, still sitting in the middle of the colourful garden. I wonder what she thinks about, sitting there all day long. Maybe she fantasises about a life that exists with no death, a life of optimal health and pure happiness. Curious to know what she’s thinking, I wandered outside and over to the garden. I sat in front of her, infatuated with her lightly blushed face. She was beginning to look skinny, her wrinkles became more defined, and her colour was very dull. But as I looked deeper, I was mesmerised by her breath-taking beauty.

We sat all day long in absolute silence, cherishing this unforgettable moment together. The longer we sat the more I realised how special this garden was. It was full of life, so vibrant, colourful, and full of blossoming flowers. I was overcome by delight as the sweet fragrance filled my nose with every deep breath I took. I now understood why this garden was so sacred to Rose; it was a place where she could live.

At the rise of the golden sun the following morning, I put the kettle on the gas stove to boil. As I waited I looked out the small kitchen window, and I noticed tiny water drops on the glass. I paused, then quickly realised that it must’ve been raining overnight. I focussed even harder out the window and discovered that Rose wasn’t in the garden, my body froze and my heart skipped a beat. I rushed outside barefoot, and stepped through the muddy garden to where Rose usually is.

All that was left was a dark green, flowerless stem, with a few small thorns on it. The leaves were limp with sadness as they looked to the ground, the rainwater dripping off them. I followed their gaze, and that’s where I found Rose, lying in the muddy flowerbed, surrounded by petals that broke off her from impacting with the ground. I fell to my knees; too scared to touch the fragile bud, instead I just stared in shock and softly said, “My beloved Rose, you have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be [17]. I love you every day. And now I will miss you every day [18].”

It rained lightly up until midday, before the sun finally came out. I didn’t step a foot outside for the rest of the day, I just sat at the kitchen table focussed on nothing in front of me. Even though I knew this day was coming, there was never enough time to emotionally prepare me for the loss of such a beautiful Rose. I was so captivated by her distinctive bloom; it’s impossible to explain how much bliss she gave my life.

A couple of weeks went by before I felt ready to step outside again. As Summer was on its way, the ground started to dry up, so I decided to water the garden. As I strolled past where Rose used to be, I was stopped in my steps. As I walked a little closer I noticed that Rose’s stem had grown another small bud, and was ready to bloom at any day. My empty heart warmed with joy as I remembered a saying from a great philosopher, Debasish Mridha; “What you see with your eyes are transient and ephemeral, what you see through your heart is everlasting and eternal [19].”

[15] Perrion, Z. (2013). The Alabaster Girl. Retrieved 27 August 2016, from http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/34486649-the-alabaster-girl

[16] Jordan, R. (1992). The Shadow Rising-Wheel of Time. Retrieved 27 August 2016, from http://www.goodreads.com/ arch?q=dying+flowers&search %5Bsource%5D=goodreads&search_type=quotes&tab=quotes

[17] Woolf, V. (1941). Virginia Woolf’s Suicide Note Retrieved 27 August 2016, from http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/death-and-dying

[18] Albom, M. (2006). For One More Day. Retrieved 27 August 2016, from http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/death-and-dying.

[19] Mridha, D. (2013). Sweet Rhymes for Sweet Hearts. Retrieved 27 August 2016, from http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/ephemeral