Even the most beautiful rose has thorns

May 23, 1976, I am standing at the patio screen door. Looking out at my brothers and my uncle playing cards. Laughing. Joking around. Wondering how they can even play cards. How they can even laugh when we will be going to bury my mother. Our mother, His sister. Very shortly.

I look down at the dress I am wearing. The black dress that makes me look so grown up. The black dress that under different circumstances I would have been proud to be wearing. The black dress that is very similar to my beautiful sister’s dress. And I feel guilty for feeling like I look good.

How am I supposed to feel when very shortly we will be putting my mother in the ground. Throwing soil over her then sealing her body in cement. Never to be seen again. I am standing at the door looking at them. Trying to see them. Trying to understand why. Trying to take it all in.

And then I see hidden behind their laughter and playing cards is fear. They are trying to distract themselves. To take their mind off what we are about to do. I feel better somehow but worried too. If adults can’t fix everything, who can?

What are we meant to do when the lights of our dreams are turned out? What happens when the path we thought we were on is suddenly covered in thorns? Threatening to rip us apart with every step we take. What happens when we feel guilty about every breath we take wishing we could breathe no more? What happens when we question who we are and why we are here? What happens then?

That was 36 years ago and that memory is imprinted on my mind. May 23, 2012, what I realise is that it is not a bad memory but a memory that lets me remember that no matter how bad I think it is. No matter how confusing I think it is. No matter how dark the day may seem. And how afraid I am. The path is always there. Always waiting for me. Willing me to move. Challenging me to dig deep and to keep stepping forward. To keep walking into the unknown. To not stop because even in the darkest hour we are being a gift. And it is up to all of us to continue and to remember, even the most beautiful rose has thorns.