THE PROMISE

THE PROMISE

They were just children of ten and eleven sitting on my front steps one lazy sunny spring day. Their talk was of special origami projects, math problems and their philosophy of life. They talked on and on about family, future plans, university and things of life and death.

Their talk turned to things of beauty and ugliness. Objects of beauty included such things as billowy clouds on sunny warm days. They described their favorite object of beauty which was a rose with early morning dew glistening on soft fragrant petals. All these things were seen through the eyes of children.

The most awful and repulsive thing according to this pair was a new grave barren of grass or flowers. They talked on and on that day of the wonders and preciousness of life, comparing it to the sadness and ugliness of death.

Their talk once again turned to the grave with it stark harsh ground before going on to discuss things of a happier nature. Such sunny days should last forever where no ugliness can mar them.

It was at that time the promise was made: "If you die first, I promise to plant a rose on your grave." That day an unusual pact was made between these special friends. Each solemnly promised the other they would not allow the ugliness of the grave to stand. A rose would add beauty to the grave and remind them of the promise they had made one another that day.

They talked on and on of all the things that children talk about and their laughter rang out with the joy and fullness of life. They giggled, teased and made mountains of origami cranes, frogs and scenes of nativity. Off and on they talked and laughed that beautiful spring day.

That night they continued their conversation on the phone as inseparable friends often do. When told it was time to hang up they cheerfully did so but within thirty minutes they were back on the phone again to talk and laugh some more.

When his family moved away they continued to talk by long distance. At times he would turn up on our front steps and their conversation would continue as though he was still the boy next door because they were of such kindred spirits.

Once she lost a favorite earring and cried. The next evening a Nomad in leathers on a Harley delivered a package to our post box. This Nomad I recognized as his father; the package was a new pair of earrings with brilliant cut blue stones in them.

The promise was never talked about again as we always remember a true promise made to a friend and reminders are unnecessary.

For three years these two friends continued their inseparable talking and laughing, mostly on the phone as he was no longer the boy next door, but a true friend. And of course there were piles of origami figures saved over those years.

The promise remained secure though death seemed far far away for such youngsters.

We should always keep our promises she was taught. Your word is your bond and should always be honest and true, remember God keeps his promises to you.

Those three years passed like the blink of an eye. She was thirteen and he fourteen, teens now, children no longer.

When the phone rang the news was bad. She slid to the floor one hand on the wall with the phone still cradled in her other hand as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. I took the phone and heard the news from his mother. A tragic accident had claimed his life in an instant that afternoon.

The blur of services couldn't dim the promise. At the graveside she wept with streams of silent tears. Oh the thought of her special friend in a bare ugly grave with nothing of beauty. She knelt and sorrowed over the harsh ground where neither grass nor flowers grew. All thoughts of the promise returned.

The promise was still there. When told, "It's ok sweetheart, he doesn't know," Her answer wasn't a surprise. "Yes, but I know and I won't feel right until I keep my promise to him."

We shopped for days for what she considered the perfect rose. Her choice was a white Scottish carpet rose, one to grow and spread over the entire grave and to be remembered as a thing of beauty by all who passed that way.

So on a sunny afternoon we drove back to the cemetery near the grave. "Do you want help?" her father asked.

"No this is something I want to do alone, but you can bring the water."

We watched as our daughter now a lovely young woman walked up the small hill to the grave of her dearest friend. She had a promise to keep. A promise she had made as a child and would be fulfilled today on her fifteenth birthday.

She carried with her the memories of friendship; love and laughter they had shared, the innocence of their childhood, her sorrow and one white Scottish rose. The promise had been kept.