There Will Be No Flowers Today Part 3 of Trilogy

(Part 3 of Trilogy for My Father) I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit, But they did not understand ---could not understand--- the reality the finality of lives and dreams turned to dust, of a childhood lying buried in those graves. Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years? "Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked. "There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said. Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass. "Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest. "And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word. "See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses." I remember when the dog peed on her prized yellows until they died. Until she cried. I thought her tears silly at the time but not now. "Grandma would have loved you," I inform my bored offspring.  Loved you like she never loved me. I reach for the vase set in the grave marker, but time has rusted it in place. There will be no flowers today.