Mary Arlock

Roses

On Sunday morning the house seemed normal, except that mom wasn’t there. When Dad answered the door, his shirt was untucked, and he had small streaks of dirt on his face. I’ll never forget how confused he was to see me despite it being a Sunday. We exchanged our usual loving words while he almost reluctantly stepped aside to let me in. I followed the familiar path to the living room that mom had so carefully decorated with photos, mostly of me. Dad never really liked having his picture taken and seemed content to have mom fill it with photos of me, Mom, and his roses. He would always say that it was “A wall full of the most important things”.