Grandma's roses

When I was a little girl we had a beautiful little garden ,in it roses of every color. We all called it " grandmaa's garden" not because she was only the one who loved roses but because she was only the one who looked after them. Watering , maneuvering .....she did it all. It was her favorite passtime as she called it but it was far away from "passtime" . Since she had no one else to tell her bed time stories , we all were busy with our "things " . Things limiting the actuall human contact. To us Disney became the best story teller and grandmaa's stories became old and repetitive. We had cartoons to watch , the homework to keep up friends to absolutely involve with in order to remain in the clique. And the excuses, no grandma not now ..tomorrow.we don't have time right now. The irony of situation was she was the one who had little time. And as the days passed by she found new comapnions to look after ...her roses. They dint gave her excuses, and they actually were very good listeners, unlike us . They bloomed under her love , being prettiest of all. The rose bloomed,we moved on and she got older. We dint missed her old tales by then . We had new apps and games . Now when her time is over with us the only thing I wish is for is one little story, one last story , story that would tell us how harsh sometimes time could be and and we would need patience, love,grattitue and compassion to overcome it. Her stories were the one her care, for all of us even when we had no time, taught us compassion. Now, regret being stronger then gratitude all that is left of her are her roses. Prettiest of them all . Still blooming bright. Telling us stories of our incompetence as good kids. All we had to do was listen and get loved but we failed miserably. The grandmaa 's roses now telling stories of regret.