Red Roses Ch. 06 - Lillies

Hello, gentle reader, and welcome to the closing chapter of Red Roses. This is a regrettably brief conclusion to the saga but feels like the best way to wrap it up. For those of you have been with Trish and Justin since the beginning, thank you for sticking with them to the very end. I have a few closing thoughts on the journey after the story.

As always, I'll apologize in advance for my poor editing and my typos. Any feedback--whether in comments or sent though the feedback tab (email)--is welcome. Thank you again for reading!

#

Wind ripples through the treetops. I pause and listen. It's a low, moaning whistle. In most cases, I'd call it a lonely, forlorn sound, like the echo of one's personal ghosts shrieking for accountability of one's actions. Most of the time, that's reaction I have to such a sound and I left my soul fill with the guilt and shame of my failures. Today, though, all I do is smile.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

I glance at my daughter, hovering at my elbow. Concern and sadness radiates from her face.

For a moment, I'm struck by how much Tabitha looks like me at her age: the same trim form, and shoulder-length wavy brown hair, though mine has long since gone gray. I remember how much she and I squabbled when she was a teenager. Her will is still so strong and she has such a fiery spirit, though time and age have tempered it. She's grown, matured, and become a responsible business owner, wife, and mother herself. I recall when she came to me after getting pregnant with her oldest, which had been an accident and far ahead of her and her husband's planned start to their family. The news had thrown their life schedule into chaos and they were both terrified. Tabitha tried to be strong but her trembling lip and misty eyes gave her away and when her resolve failed, she collapsed crying in my arms. I held her and assured things would work out... and like these things often do, they had. Still, it was a bonding moment for us.

"Mom?"

I pat her on the arm. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just having a pleasant memory."

Tabitha answers with a sad smile. "We have a bunch of them, don't we? Somehow, it doesn't feel like enough today."

"It's not, but in the end, I think that's all any of us every really have."

Tabitha nods, though I can tell she's unconvinced. I don't argue with her; she has to make her own evaluations about what matters. I agree that having our memories isn't adequate but I also understand that the universe cares little about what we individual humans want.

Mason appears on my left. He offers me his elbow. I smile at him and place my hands on his arm. He always was a sensitive, considerate soul, who cared about other people. He's such a generous soul that there were times we were both worried he would be taken advantage of but he's grown up with his father's hidden strength, and I am glad for that.

I flick my eyes between my children. Tabitha and Mason both have done nothing but make us proud and despite the circumstances of the day, for a moment I am so proud that I am ready to burst. That thought also brings a moment of sadness.

Baby, I think, I know they made you proud too.

Mason leads me from the car. Tabitha walks on my right, her head held high but the haunted look in her eyes is unmistakable. Behind us, their spouses--Charlotte and Isaac--walk with our six grandchildren. I resist the urge to look at Jacob, Mason's oldest son and the oldest of the six, who guides his heavily pregnant wife Lacey. She is only a few weeks away from giving birth to our first great-grandchild.

The cycle of life. Things are born, things die. Everything that happens in between is what we make of it. I pause. Did I make the most of it? Do we ever? I have no regrets. I pray he didn't either.

The wind swirls and I shiver. It's a raw day, the type of cold blustery January morning best spent inside, curled in front of a fireplace with one's lover, a good book, a cup of coffee, or all three. Justin and I spent countless winter days over the years doing just that, snuggling on the couch together. We'd talk, laugh, or make love as the mood took us.

I sigh. No matter how much time we spent together, I'd trade everything material I own for just a little more.

I note that most of the attendees are already assembled and seated in the rows of waiting chairs. Despite the rawness of the day, every seat is filled save those reserved for the family. Seeing Justin's friends and beloved come out for his final journey makes my heart swell with happiness. Mason and Tabitha and their spouses sit to either side of me in the front row, with our grandchildren filling in behind us.

As I settle into my seat, my eyes fall on the bronze and copper casket lined with flowers and a shroud. My heart clenches. I have a momentary urge to lunge from the chair and throw myself on the coffin, shrieking in misery. Then I see Justin's smirk at such an act and hear his voice echo in my ears: Trish, you're such a drama queen. I chuckle at myself as I gently brush tears from my cheeks. I'm no such thing but even though he's gone, he knows exactly what to say to talk me down.

Tabitha takes my hand and squeezes, a knowing smile on her tear-streaked face, as if she can tell what I'm thinking. It amazes me how much more intuitive she's gotten as she's gotten older. Just further evidence to me that we did a few things right.

Now that we're seated, the minister moves to the podium. I don't know him but Mason, who has has handled most of the details of today for me, says he's an excellent non-denominational eulogist. In most ways, it feels like form for form's sake. I left organized religion behind years ago and while I still have a vague sense of spirituality, growing up with my parents--God rest their souls--had left me unable to cleave tightly to any particular dogma.

Still, as I listen to the minister speak, I have to admit that Mason was correct; the man speaks not of fire and brimstone, or of a life spent in service to Christ. Instead, he talks of Justin's impact on his family, his friends, and his community. He highlights the memory of a man beloved by those who knew him.

Memories. I do have plenty of those. The one memory stands out stronger than most.

#

I cut the tomato into thin slices and arranged them on top of each of our sandwiches, then topped each with a thick leaf of lettuce and a swath of mayonnaise. I wondered how many sandwiches I'd made my husband over the years. No matter the number, I had not regretted a single one, even when he joked about it being my "wifely duty." Some women would have called it demeaning but that hardly bothered me. For one, the opinions of people who weren't my family and friends meant crap... and for another, Justin took such good care of me that I craved the opportunities to do the same for him.

Just as I put the knife on the counter, a pair of strong hands slid around my waist and a warm body pressed against my back. I sighed and closed my eyes. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Justin whispered in my ear.

"Stay so warm all the time. You're like a space heater."

"My love for you."

I turned my head and kissed his cheek. "Good answer. These are done."

Justin smiled and took the plated sandwiches to the table, where he had already placed our drinks. He held my seat for me and then sat to my left. I watched him move; at seventy-nine, he was still in pretty good shape. He carried his age well and his eyes still sparkled with the same mischief that had been there since we were children. Beyond Mason and Tabitha, there was no one on the planet I loved more and every year made our bond stronger.

He took a bite of his sandwich and gave me a quick look. "Something wrong?"

"Why?"

"You're looking at me like I'm a piece of meat."

I smirked. "You're my piece of meat. I hope we can show each other as much later."

"We can do that," he said, laughing. We ate and made flirtatious comments to each other.

Even though our pace had slowed way down, we still had sex about once a week. We'd maintained the sub-dom relationship for two decades and finally decided in our sixties that it wasn't necessary any longer. When I looked back, our roles didn't change all that much... we just no longer codified it. The change did nothing to affect our sex life. It wasn't as spontaneous as was when we were younger and sometimes look a little more prep time and some pharmaceutical assistance. Neither Justin or I ever complained. I considered the hassle worth it in order to be with the love of my life. Every time we did, I savored his touch, knowing that given our ages and the vagaries of life, every time might well be our last.

I reached under the table and squeezed his knee. "I can't wait."

"Me either. Speaking of not waiting--" He wiped his mouth on his napkin and stood. "I better get down to Home Depot. I need to get that stain so I can touch up your mom's cabinet. When's your appointment?"

"One-thirty, but I should be home before four." I smiled. He was going to spend the next few days restoring a piece of furniture Mom handed down to me. We could afford to have it redone but he was doing it for me because he loved me, and I loved him for it. "Routine follow-up."

I didn't tell him that the doctor's office had called me for the follow-up, not the other way around. That usually meant something serious but I wasn't going to borrow trouble until I had facts under my belt.

He bent and gave me a slow kiss. "Love you, Trish."

"Love you, too, Justin," I whispered. "Drive safe."

"You too."

He gave me the grin that still made my knees weak, picked up his keys, and went out the door.

It was the last time I would see him alive.

#

The breeze blows a stray wisp of hair into my face, bringing me back to the eulogy. I bite my lip, trying to stay in the moment--out of politeness for the man's well-intentioned effort, if nothing else. But there's nothing the minister can tell me about my husband of fifty years that I don't already know. My eyes drift to the ornate casket again.

Aortic rupture. That's what they called it. Technically, it means a blood vessel in Justin's heart burst and he rapidly passed from the loss of blood and oxygen. He had been in the paint aisle at Home Depot looking at stains when he keeled over. Several good citizens tried to help and called for an ambulance; even though the paramedics were at his side in less than eight minutes, they pronounced him dead at the scene.

My eyes cloud once again at the thought. The idea of Justin enduring that attack at our home and writhing on the floor in pain and fright with no one to help him, saddens me. At least he wasn't alone and was somewhere aid could be rendered. I was too stunned at the time but from what Tabitha told me later, they think Justin was gone before he hit the ground... that he was simply here one breath and gone the next.

I take a deep breath. That thought that he did not suffer comforts me.

A waving motion in the periphery of my vision catches my attention and I look to my left. One of the arrangements of white-leafed flowers sways in the breeze.

Lilies.

The traditional flower for funerals, representing the innocence and purity of the departed as they transition from one world to the next.

I suppress a snicker at that thought. Both Justin and I had long since ceased being either innocent or pure. But whatever "wickedness," as my parents would have called it, that we indulged in, we did together.

I close my eyes and think back to the life we'd lived; to our being best friends growing up, to friends-with-benefits who indulged in rough fantasies, to lovers in every sense of the word, to spouses who truly understood the idea of "better half," to parents who raised two great kids, to a master and submissive whose roles only strengthened an already-stout relationship.

I can't complain. How many people get to say they've had their soulmate in their life for seventy years? We had wonderful children, great friends, material comfort, and few real problems. When I stack our lives against the bulk of humanity that has ever lived, I have to say we were... lucky? Blessed? Whatever word one uses, Justin and I were so incredibly fortunate. Facts.

Another sigh eases from my lips. Facts don't make it hurt any less. Facts don't fill the gaping, burning hole in my soul. I wipe my eyes again. Would I ever stop crying?

Well, yes, pretty soon you're going to stop crying, along with everything else.

#

I stared at the colored image. It didn't resemble anything so much as splotches of multicolored paint spilled inside a roughly skull-shaped outline. "What am I looking at here?"

Doctor Pamela Jenkins scrolled the wheel of her mouse and the display changed, though the change made it no more easy for me to understand. She stopped on one image and moved the mouse over a spot. A quick loop of her wrist drew a thick white line around a discolored blot. "That's it," she said in her quiet voice.

"Cancer?"

She nodded.

I took a deep breath. I'd been half-expecting the answer but it still hit me like a hammer between the eyes. A dozen questions encapsulating my concerns and fears boiled from the depths of my mind. The most important one pushed its way to the forefront. "Is is treatable?"

Jenkins hesitated and I knew. Right then, I knew. My hands began to tremble and my mouth was dry. "How long?"

She sighed and plucked her glasses from her face. "I don't mean to be callous but you told me from our first appointment that you wanted straight talk." She stared at me. "Six months, tops."

"Six months," I repeated. Suddenly, there didn't seem like there was enough time. All the things I still wanted to do, to experience. I thought of my grandson and his wife about to give birth to our first great-grandchild. Would I make it long enough to witness that? "How bad is it going to get?"

"We can explore some palliative options that will keep you mobile and mostly pain-free until the last few weeks. You are probably going to lose some motor function as you get close so even with medication, I expect the last month is going to be very difficult."

I nodded. "I... I need some time."

"Understood. This is going to take some time to process." Jenkins slid a card across her desk. "I made you a follow-up next week so we can discuss your long-term options; if that time's not good, Cheryl will be happy to reschedule." She passed me a small pamphlet. "This lists some therapy offices for you and your family. You don't have to talk to any of these folks, of course, but I highly recommend you talk to someone with some experience in grief counseling."

"Yes, of course." Still numb, I scooped up the card and pamphlet.

"Trish? I'm sorry."

I gave a quick nod of my head and hurried to the exit. One thought kept rippling through my head: how am I going to tell Justin? It's going to crush him.

The trip to my car passed in a blur. I climbed behind the wheel, shut the door, and just stared at the windscreen for a few moments. The urge to hear a friendly voice was suddenly overpowering. I dug my phone from my purse. I'd turned the thing off in Jenkins's office and powered it back on. I didn't want to spill the bad new to Justin over the phone but I wanted to hear him. As the phone lit up, I saw a dozen missed calls--mostly from Tabitha and Mason, and one from a number I didn't know. None had left a voice mail. That many calls in a short period meant nothing good.

I clicked on the latest call, from Tabitha, hit dial, and waited. As soon as I heard her answer, I said, "Tabitha? What's going on?"

My daughter erupted into sobs. "Mom... it's Dad."

#

I haven't told the kids. It's only been two weeks since we received the news that had shaken us all to our core. Some would say I was being selfish or cruel to keep that news to myself but it was my call. My babies--even though they're grown, they are still my babies--have to cope with losing one parent and before they truly have time to make that adjustment, they are going to have to face losing the other.

I squeeze both their hands. Both Mason and Tabitha squeeze back. I'm relieved that they are so close and love each other so much, since they will have to lean on each other so heavily in the coming months.

The minister finishes his eulogy. That's the cue for the lowering of the casket. Ever so slowly, the box recedes into the ground. My lips quiver, thinking of the other half of my soul disappearing into the cold, uncaring ground. Even though I'd laid my eyes on him for the last time, watching the casket descend gives a new finality. I can't help it; the tears flow now and I don't even try to stop them.

I don't know if there's a heaven or hell. Like I said, I am a lapsed Christian. I do know that if there is a heaven, I'll be fine with whatever shape it takes as long as my lover is by my side. Any other situation would be the definition of hell. And if there is nothing beyond save the dark cold of oblivion? Then I'll go, with a smile on face.

At last, the lowering is done. Mason stands. He offers me his arm and I take it. Together, we step close to the open grave. I take my arm from Mason's and kneel on one knee in the pile of soft, loose soil. I'm probably staining my dress but I don't really care. I scoop a double handful of dirt and bring it to my face, inhaling deeply. The earthy smell of must and loam fills my nostrils and floods my lungs. I close my eyes.

I love you, Justin.

I open my eyes and release the earth, which tumbles across the surface of the casket. I raise my dirty palm to my lips, kiss it, and blow across the surface.

Wait for me, my love. I'll be with you soon.

Mason helps me to my feet; Tabitha joins us, as does the rest of the family. I walk away with my head held high, ready to face the short remains of this life, and hoping the best for the next one.

END

Wow, this has been quite a journey.

When I started Red Roses, I planned it as a stand-alone but initial feedback heavily asked for a sequel. I got it in my head to try and tell a story in a series and see how many categories I could hop and still keep it as one coherent tale. At this point, I didn't think I could wedge in another chapter/category without forcing it, so I decided to let this saga end. It was a fun project to try once, though I don't think I'll do it again.

Though this is the end of Trish and Justin's tale, I have an inkling for another serial, though it may take a while to realize it. Thank you everyone for coming along for the ride, for all the feedback (good and bad), and support and encouragement. I'll keep writing and hope everyone will enjoy other things I offer. If not, there's so many good authors and so much good writing on the site, I hope you find something you do enjoy.

Take care!

P.