The roses on the wall are a constant reminder of what I lost.
One white rose from my last cheer competition.
A light pink rose from another.
But those two roses aren't as important as the biggest rose.
That dark pink rose is a reminder of your funeral. You had a long good life. You were 97 years old when you left.
You were a rose in your own right. They covered your casket with pink roses. A symbol of your beauty. You were the last mockingbird that died out of the 7. You were the mockingbird covered in flowers and jewels.
I remember you through that rose hanging on my wall. An image of unforgotten beauty. Just like you were your whole life.