Roses To Die For

BETTY'S DAYDREAM

Betty sat daydreaming of a place she’d rather be. As an avid rose gardener, she belonged to a couple of rose garden clubs and had her own substantial three-acre garden. In the center stood a 10-foot by 10-foot octagonal cedar gazebo. It showcased a special variety of roses that grew up seven of the sides, close to the top.

Betty’s roses were a cross between two Grandiflora varieties, Black Magic and St. Patrick, and a climbing variety called Altissimo. It took years of crossbreeding to get the results she desired. The flowers were large, deep red in color, and featured streaks of yellow that appeared to drip off the petals like teardrops. They were climbers and one day they would completely cover the gazebo. She pruned them back from the entrance so she could enter and sit among them marveling at their beauty. The clubs named them St. Patrick’s Black Magic and credited Betty as their creator.

The joy of sitting with her roses soon faded as she remembered where she was. A slow rhythmic beep marked time with a heart too weak to beat much longer. Her husband had a massive stroke four days ago. The prognosis was grim. Walter was now in a coma and the doctors said not to expect him to recover. Betty was a pragmatic person. She didn’t waste time thinking about what could have been. She believed you had to live in the moment. You cannot undo the past and the future is unknowable. The end would come soon. Then she could get back to her roses.

WALTER'S PLAN

Walter had been a successful CFO in a large, prestigious software company for forty years. He ran his life like he had run the company’s business. Everything was by the book, double and triple-checked, and internally audited regularly. Some years back he bought burial plots for himself and Betty. He told her, in detail, how each of them would be buried. One process for her dying first, another for him dying first. Their conversation was like one of his business meetings including handouts and a question-and-answer period. Betty never asked questions.

FATE'S PLAN

At around midnight, the monitor signaled that the patient’s heart had stopped. The slow beep turned into a long, dull tone. Betty sat silently in the chair as a nurse slowly, solemnly, entered the room. She cast a glance toward Betty and said, “Mrs. Stone, he is gone.” Betty did not react. There were no tears. Just a sigh. It is finished, she thought.

BEST LAID PLANS

Walter, in his death process document, had meticulously detailed the next steps to be followed. Betty ignored them. Four days ago, she met Mr. Jones, the owner of New Life Alternatives. He enlightened her on the benefits of human composting. This was a new burial alternative only recently allowed by law. Betty’s interest peaked as he described the human body composting procedure and the rich, new soil that would be produced, high in all the nutrients her roses needed. She contracted with Mr. Jones to have Walter’s body turned to fertilizer, arranged for it to be delivered to her garden and paid for it from the sale of two burial plots.

Two months passed. It was delivery day! Betty had prepared the gazebo soil by turning it over and raking it smooth. Walter will be comfortable here, she thought. Mr. Jones was right. New growth was apparent by the second day. At the end of the week, there were twice as many flowers, the thorns were much larger, and the roses started climbing over the top of the gazebo. Betty was overjoyed by the progress in such a short amount of time.

BETTY'S NIGHTMARE

One evening, around midnight, she awoke and felt compelled to go to her roses. She was overwhelmed by the feeling of excitement and the invitation they offered. The entrance was much smaller now, but she could still crawl in and sit in the middle of the gazebo. Suddenly, the roses began to pulsate. They swayed back and forth making a rustling, rhythmic sound. They were growing longer and larger with each beat. Before she realized it, the roses began to cover her. The thorns began to bite into the flesh on her arms and legs. The large thorns tore strips of flesh from her body. She screamed and tried to escape, but with every move, the roses’ grip grew tighter. She passed out and the roses continued to feast. By daybreak, Betty had joined Walter, feeding and caring for the roses.