A dying rose

This rose has become symbolic for me.  My father gave it to my mother and I threw two of the roses in the stream with some of my mother’s ashes last year.   Last month we scattered the rest of her ashes together with those of my father with a rosebud.  This evening as the petals of the rose were dropping my aunt breathed her last breath.  It was a relief after having had two strokes twelve days ago and now my sister and niece can return home after spending several nights keeping vigil beside her hospital bed.  She will be sorely missed by so many.