Every rose has its thorns, and the thorns on this one are legit!
Yesterday, I cut the last rose I will ever take home from my grandparents' house. 😢
AUGH. Even typing that feels unbearably heavy.
I have cut roses from those bushes more times than I could possibly count. Yesterday, I knew it was the last time, so I wandered around looking for one worth taking with me. I found this one, broken at the stem. It's gorgeous, it smells amazing, and it also has a ridiculous number of extremely sharp thorns. I think Grandma was telling me this was my perfect rose, and I'm sure she saw the lesson in it.
As I was trimming it this morning, I kept thinking about how appropriate it felt that the most beautiful rose was basically untouchable. Yesterday, I said goodbye to a house that has been part of my life for 17 years. More importantly, I said goodbye to a chapter of my life I wasn't ready to end. I've written quite a bit about moving my grandfather over the last couple months. First, about how hard it was to go through all of his and my grandma's things and decide what stays and what goes. Then, about realizing something I hadn't expected at all: while I was struggling so much with him leaving their home, he was ready.
He told me it would have been much harder if Grandma were still there because it was their home. She's been gone for a while now, and he was ready to leave that house and make his own home somewhere else. I understood, but I still didn't like it.
Yesterday made it real. The house will soon no longer be his. There won't be another family dinner there. I won't walk into that kitchen and see Grandpa in one of his usual spots. There won't be another holiday or random afternoon or project or sleepover. I won't wander through the yard and cut flowers to bring home. That chapter is finished, and I am absolutely gutted by it.
At the exact same time, something really beautiful is happening. Grandpa is starting his next chapter closer to the rest of our family. He will be close enough to attend my niece's and nephew's games, activities, and events. Those are the important things I all too often have to miss because of my own proximity. He gets to become a more regular part of their everyday lives, and they get more time to really get to know their great-grandfather.
I LOVE that for all of them. I hate what had to end for it to begin. It's an uncomfortable realization that both are true at the same time.
That's what this rose was making me think about this morning. It is such a strange combination of senses. I can look at something beautiful, smell something sweet, and feel something sharp enough to make me wince - all from the exact same thing, at the exact same time.
How much of life exists within that same beautiful kind of conflict?
We can desperately miss someone while being incredibly grateful we had them. We can be exhausted by a life we intentionally filled with things we love to do. We can want our kids to grow while wishing they'd stay little forever. We can be proud of someone for leaving while wanting them to stay. We can know something is absolutely the right decision and still freaking hate parts of it.
One feeling doesn't invalidate the other, but I think I've spent a lot of my life assuming the "right" choice should somehow FEEL right. If we are sad about something, maybe we made the wrong decision. If something hurts, perhaps we should have chosen differently. I am starting to think life is far messier than that.
There are only 525,600 minutes in a year. We can't do everything within them. Every choice we make uses some of those minutes and, whether we consciously acknowledge it or not, takes them away from something else.
We choose the extra hour of work and give up the workout. We choose the workout and leave some work unfinished. We choose to do ALL THE THINGS and sacrifice downtime and, all too often, sleep. We choose the bills over the vacation, the vacation over the designer bag, or the designer bag (or in my case, kitten) over whatever else we decided mattered less in that moment.
We are constantly choosing and constantly trading. That does not mean we are making the wrong choices. It means there isn't an ideal version of life where we somehow get everything and it's all perfect and easy.
Grandpa gets to live closer to family, in a place where life will be easier for him and where he will have people around him. My niece and nephew get something incredibly valuable: more ordinary time with Grandpa Great. The tradeoff is leaving behind a beautiful home filled with our family's memories...and me.
Would I choose differently if it were up to me? Nope. Do I desperately wish I could somehow have both? Absolutely.
Yesterday, I chose one last rose and said goodbye to a place I love dearly. Today, that rose is hanging in my house. I can see how beautiful it is. I can smell its sweetness. If I'm not careful when I touch it, those freaking thorns will remind me it is entirely capable of hurting me, too.
That's not a contradiction that requires a resolution. That is just life - beautiful and painful, beginnings and endings, gratitude and grief, excitement and loss - sometimes all at once.
I promise you, not for a second would I give up the rose just to avoid the thorns.
Grandpa, because I know you are going to read this...I hope you know how incredibly happy I am for you and how excited I am to watch you make this next chapter your own. If saying goodbye to your house hurts this much, it is only because you and Grandma made it a place where I always felt comfortable, safe, and loved. Thank you for that! I wouldn't trade those 17 years of having you in Colorado - or all these freaking monster thorns - for anything in the world. I love you most! 🤗 😘
