The Final Rose

It was all a blur -- the hours of talking, the rubs and touches, and the little kisses left on her cheek from grownups who didn't really care -- people who didn’t understand the pain. They said, “Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry” and “I’m always here,” but they never truly meant it. But the moment came for her to finally let go of the rose she had been clamped onto for hours. Her heart sank, feeling it break inside as she walked closer and closer to the hole left by men who merely dug it for a job -- not even acknowledging that in a few hours someone would be laying there. Her toes straddled the edge as if she wanted to jump in after the father that raised her, the father that taught her wrong from right, the father that brought her to get ice cream before dinner then told her not to tell her mother. All these things were hitting the sides of her head trying to escape -- trying to find someplace to relieve the pain -- but there was no exit, just a place for them to sit forever and rot. Slowly, her eyes filled with tears as she resentfully opened her hands and dropped the beautiful flower on top of the casket. Tears falling down her cheeks and feeling sick to her stomach, she ambled back to her mother.