Max's rose

Good-bye, Max's rose...

I've had a rose plant on my dresser since sometime last spring. Periodically it brings forth a bud or two. The last was in mid-August. It was coming to my attention while I was tending to Max, when I hoped he only had a bad infection. It fully bloomed the morning of the day I had to take him in to put him to sleep. I remember thinking of it, sadly, before I even had to face that inevitability, as that the rose was blooming to mark his passing. Now, I know that's foolish. Nevertheless, it's our lot as humans to make associations that aren't there.

About a week ago, it had faded and dried on the plant. Some time earlier this year a friend advised me that one had to cut them off for something else to grow. So, hard as it was, I did. I looked at it for a moment and put it in the waste paper basket. About ten minutes ago, I dumped the basket. Again, I regarded the rose. It was hard to throw it out a second time. I even pressed my lips to it. But it was gone, and I had to let it go. Max's rose.

I guess there's a lesson there. An analogy. It still kind of sucks, though.