Saving Rose

A mist covered the decaying slabs of granite as the family walked over crisp fallen leaves. The fog hung heavy in an ominous presence, consuming the mourners. The sky was an austere gray as the mourners made their way to the newly dug grave. She was only thirty-four years old when she took her last breath. The tombstone read Clara Mary Griffin, born October 20, 1924, died November 10, 1958. Her family and friends gathered around to pay their last respects to a beloved friend, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, wife, and mother. Tears streamed down rose flushed cheeks and smoke billowed out of chattering teeth, as it was an especially cold November day. Little Rose tugged on her older sister Sarah’s black lace dress. Sarah shrugged her baby sister off and continued to hide her tear-stained face in her handkerchief.

Little Rose was an exceptionally beautiful child even at the young age of six. She had golden bouncy ringlets of hair that framed her round face. Tiny brown freckles dotted her petite nose. Her rosy cheeks set off her porcelain skin and complemented her sapphire eyes. When she smiled her dimples were too hard to resist, so everyone had to pinch them. Rose, who was normally known for her rambunctious nature, was confused that day. She kept asking everyone at the funeral, “When’s Mommy gonna wake up?” They simply gave Rose a little sympathetic smile and then wrapped her in a big hug as they began to weep again. Life from this day forward would never be the same for little Rose.