A Garden of Ash-Colored Roses

Sixty years ago Cupid's bow and arrow ensured that my parent's separate paths merged into one. They were a couple that most parents envied as they never argued or involved anyone in their business. I cannot recall them having any problems. I'm not implying that I had a perfect life, as every couple faces issues, but they chose to keep theirs private.

My father made an oath to himself to keep his word, and he always abided by it. He never failed to show up or call in sick, as it was not in his nature. If he said he would assist someone, he followed through. If he said he would be somewhere, he always showed up. He never explicitly used the phrase "I promise" but instead responded with "It looks promising" when asked for a favor. He was widely recognized in the city as "Honest Frank." The only promises he made were to my mother, and he never broke a single one.

My father's upbringing in San Francisco was marked by a tumultuous life. As an infant, he experienced the abandonment of his father, who left both him and my grandmother. One morning, my grandmother woke up, following her usual routine of completing chores, running errands, and preparing dinner for three, even though only two would partake in the meal.

Due to financial constraints, my father had to begin working at a young age. He accepted any job that offered cash payment in order to assist my grandmother. Although it was challenging, both my father and grandmother were able to cope. When my father reached high school, his primary goal was to attend college. However, due to my grandmother's limited income as a single mother, it was impossible for her to afford the tuition fees.

Therefore, my dad took the necessary steps to attain his aspiration. He dedicated himself to achieving high grades and ultimately secured a scholarship. Consequently, in the year 1950, he successfully completed his high school education and four years later, in 1954, he obtained a degree from the University of California, Berkeley.

He received a job offer from Boeing, as he possessed great skills in building airplanes. Despite the difficulty of leaving, both my grandmother and he recognized it was the best decision. He assured her that he would visit on holidays and, once he had enough money, he would relocate her to Seattle. With my grandmother's approval, he accepted the job.

My dad drove for sixteen hours without stopping, except for eating and getting gas, from San Francisco to Seattle. He arrived late at night or early in the morning on a Saturday transitioning into Sunday. Upon arrival, he checked into a Bed and Breakfast called "Letto Di Rose" (which means bed of roses). This accommodation was an old Victorian house that my grandmother had arranged for him.

Due to his exhaustion and the upcoming orientation on Monday, he needed to rest. Upon reaching his room, he was astounded. They had bestowed upon him the master bedroom, signifying that he possessed his own bathroom. The room exuded a comforting ambiance, emanating the scent of clean linens and potpourri. The expansive bay windows and balcony provided a picturesque view of a splendid garden. However, due to sheer exhaustion, my father was unable to fully appreciate the graciousness of his accommodations. All he yearned for at that moment was a peaceful slumber.

In the early hours of the following morning, which occurred merely a few hours later, my father was awakened by loud banging. Naturally, he felt irritated as he had been relishing his sleep after a lengthy drive. As the noise persisted, he proceeded downstairs to investigate the cause of the disturbance. Upon entering the dining room, he realized that he had forgotten the reason for going there.

He noticed a remarkably beautiful woman crying, which puzzled him as to why someone so stunning would be in tears. He was so focused on her that his concentration was even worse than when he was driving.

He felt captivated by her presence. Her eyes, shaped like almonds and brown in color, resembled smokey quartz crystals. Her lips were perfectly balanced, and her long black hair was adorned with Shirley Temple curls. She possessed an Italian beauty that was rare in San Francisco.

Although she had a thick accent, her English was perfect. From that moment on, all he desired was to hear her voice and admire her flawless face. In a trance, he thought to himself,

"I could never grow weary of gazing at her," as he stared without disregarding her. He heard her perfectly well, but his mind was consumed by thoughts of spending the rest of his life with this woman.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you?"

"Oh, um, no. Sorry, I'm just a little tired. It's been a long drive here. I was just seeing if you were okay. I heard all the noise, and see you crying."

"Oh I'm sorry. I'm late to prepare for lunch. I'm sorry I didn't mean to disturb you. I can get you something from the kitchen if you want,” she said sniffing.

She picked up broken glass and continued, “You’re the one from California, aren’t you? Are you here to work on all aircraft? Wow, you are very smart. This is excited.” My mother was nervous, but you could never tell.

"Exciting. Yes, very exciting." he corrected her with a laugh.

"Oh," she giggled and continued, "I'm sorry, that's exciting for you."

"Do you need help? Looks like you could use some." He bent down and helped her clear the plates.

"Yes, thank you very much. I'm very messy today." My mother was grateful that he could help her.

"So what's your name? If you don't mind me asking, where are you from? Your accent is beautiful."

"My name is Isabella, I came here from Sicily with my family. My parents bought this place. My mother, she just died. That's why I'm so late today. I love my mom, she gave me life. I'm so sad to lose her. My dad, won't show his sadness. But I know he misses her. His eyes tell me he does. I understand your name is Frank. You Just graduated from college and came here from California.”

With a smile and a little sarcasm, my father said, "Someone's doing their homework."

"Excuse me? No, I don't go to school. Homework?" My mother was confused by my father's comment.

"No." laughing, putting his hand to his mouth. "No, excuse me. It's a figure of speech. I just meant that you know a lot about me."

"Well, my father he lets us to know. He told me our company would feel more special. Like, um, more important."

They worked continuously, both eating and working, from lunch until after dinner. Once they had finished everything that needed to be done that evening, they gathered in the garden and engaged in conversation.

“What a beautiful rose bush.” My father said as he pointed to a bunch of yellow roses in full bloom.

"Thank you. That's where my mother's ashes are. She will grow with the flowers," she replied, rubbing her thumb and fingers against the peddles.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he kissed her beside the roses. It was a kiss that caused my mom's lips to flutter. Several hours had passed, but it felt like only minutes. Suddenly, the sun was rising, catching them off guard. My dad needed to attend to his obligations, and my mom had to make preparations for breakfast.

The next day, my father accepted the job at Boeing. He quickly began earning a good salary. Less than a month passed before he proposed to my mother, who enthusiastically accepted, telling him that it was about time he asked her.

My grandfather adored my father and warmly embraced him into our family. He was delighted to have a new son, to the extent that he even made room for my grandmother by relocating her from San Francisco.

In 1955, they got married, and their wedding was a small one. Neither of them knew anyone in the area. However, some of the staff, my parents, and my grandparents were present. Despite this, my grandpa managed to make the house beautiful. He transformed the room where my father had been staying into a suite for the newlyweds.

Initially, they believed it was only for the night. As a wedding present, my grandfather allowed them to stay there permanently. The place where they met, and fell in love spending their life together was the Letto Di Rose.

On the night of their honeymoon, my mother showed her nervousness for the first time. She handed my father her vows and promises.

"This is for you, my love. I mean every word in it."

Frank,

“I am scared to die. We can not control when we go or where we go from here. At any moment it could happen. Fate controls most things in our life, our eye color, our gender, who our parents are, where we are born. My biggest fear is never seeing you again amore mio. My dreams they are my destiny and I can not take control of them. Make me two promises, number one, promise you allow me to die first. I would not be able to go on without you, I am not strong enough. Number two, promise you will say goodnight to me every night in the garden where we had our first kiss. Even if you can not see me I will be there waiting for you. And I promise to you cuore mio I will watch over you. I will be protecting you. I will be waiting for you until destiny is ready for you to again be my dream come true”.

Love always,

Isabella

My father firmly grabbed my mother and held her in his arms, crying as he affectionately kissed her lips, which felt as soft as rose petals. I was born in Seattle, Washington on December 3, 1957. My parents joyfully welcomed me into this world with the sole desire of raising a content and cheerful little girl.

Mary Stella Blake, a meaningful name. My mother's family was Catholic, so it was traditional to give a child a biblical name. Virgin Mary. Daffodils are Mary's star and blue flowers are joy. I am also a December star. Marie Stella, my mother calls me "Il Mio Fiore Blu".

My mother was everything I wanted to be when I grew up. Her beauty, her gentle voice, and her gentle demeanor in everything she did. In the morning I watched her put on her makeup and pin up her hair. And every morning she'd say to me,

“Good morning, il mio fiore blu. Come here, my dear. You know, I put all this on my face just to look pretty in front of your father. It doesn't matter to me what others think of me. The people who love you are the ones you should give your heart to. You must return what came to you. That's why I love God and your father so much because they gave me the best love - you. You are Stella cosi liminosa (a very bright star). You are shining and I love you."

After hugging her, I would cherish the lingering scent of her perfume on my clothes, which made me feel beautiful. Nina Ricci perfume, and even now, when I catch its fragrance, I sense her presence.

My father enjoyed bringing me along to his workplace, where he would proudly showcase the airplanes being constructed. The enormity of those magnificent flying machines would leave me awestruck.

“When you're ready, we'll board one of the smaller planes, just you and me. You are a Star, you have nothing to fear, Stars belong to the sky. Seeing the earth from the clouds makes you feel free. From this distance, you can see much more. For me, this is what I imagine being in Heaven would be like. Remember that God’s house is there.” On that day, I no longer had a fear of flying. From then until I departed for college, we would go on a weekend trip once a month.

My grandparents had more disagreements a week than my mom and dad did throughout their entire marriage. My grandpa being from Italy was traditional which came across as being bossy. All the time he would tell me to do this or insist on me to do that. My grandma would get angry. She’d always say to him,

“She’s a kid! Let her be a kid!”

“Oh shush! You don’t know what you are saying to me about!”

“It’s talking about! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Get it right!”

“Fine! You don't know what you are talking about! There it's better that way ok? You are always getting too upset. Look how good my little Mary turned out to be. Ok? It’s good for my Nipotina, eh. She learns to work now she will make a husband very happy.”

The frustration made my grandma feel the urge to slap him upside the head with one of his hanging salamis. My father worked his fingers to the bone at too young of an age. She did not think that mistake should be made with me. Especially since the situation was much different. I wasn't raised by a single mom. I had both parents and two grandparents.

I loved my grandparents. I was my grandpa's nipotina (granddaughter), and he would allow me to check in our guests and guide them to their rooms. He had a fondness for playing Italian operas for me, particularly Norma by Vincenzo Bellini and L'Elisir d'Amore (The Elixir of Love) by Gaetano Donizetti. He would sing along with them, imitating the male voices on the recordings. Although most of the operas were tragic, my grandpa would always remark how the story they told carried much meaning and truth.

“When you love you will have sad. Love will always become lost. Either from death or deceit it always will leave some way. In the time when you have that love there with you, there is nothing more beautiful because you can continue to love even when what you love is gone. And you, my nipotina, are my amore piu grande (biggest love).” every story he finished telling ended with his finger poking my nose.

He bragged to almost every person checking in. He’d tell them I was the smartest and most beautiful piccola ragazza (little girl).

Almost every night I would sneak out of bed to my grandmother's room. She would tell me stories and I would fall asleep listening. She called me her “Mary Chistmas present '' because I was a December baby. She would count my freckles and tell me what she thought I was going to be when I grew up. It was always something like a nurse or secretary. What I wanted to do was design houses. I wanted to make them beautiful for people. When I told my grandmother that she said she knew that's what I’d do and I would be amazing at it.

“You can do anything you want. I believe that about you my Mary Christmas present. You are smart and beautiful. Remember, looks can not get you by in life forever.” pointing her finger to her head she continued, “It’s what’s in here that matters. Do good in school and get good grades like your father did. All the popularity and prom queen stuff, is not going to matter anymore once you’re out of high school. It’s not going to get you accepted into college and it's not going to get you your first job. Do you understand?”

I shook my head yes. Laughing she pulled me in to hold me. Kissing the top of my head she said,

“Good, that's a good girl. I love you.”

Sadly, my grandmother passed away in 1970 when I was thirteen years old, and she was sixty-seven. I struggled to come to terms with her loss and it was tough witnessing my father's sadness. As a way to remember her, we planted her ashes in the rose bush in the garden, where my other grandmother, whom I had never met, ashes were placed.

My mom and dad informed me that having her in a rose bush signified her constant growth. They assured me that I could approach her whenever I desired, which provided me with solace.

Shortly after my grandmother's death, my grandfather began experiencing dementia. Consequently, my parents had to bid farewell to the bed and breakfast. Each morning, he would insist that he had never consumed toast or even set foot in our kitchen. His memory loss worsened with each passing day. Eventually, my parents were compelled to relocate him to a nursing home.

During the initial visits, he would remember us occasionally for a minute or two. However, one day he refused to spend time with the unfamiliar individuals, referring to us as "gente strana" (strange people) and suspecting our intentions to harm him. Witnessing her father in such a state devastated my mother.

In 1974, my grandfather passed away at the age of seventy-eight while I was seventeen and on the verge of graduating from high school. When I was young, I always envisioned them present for my graduation and wedding. However, they are no longer here. Both of them are now flourishing roses in our garden.

I followed in my father's footsteps and I attended Berkeley graduating with a degree in interior design within four years. Following my college years, I returned to my parents' home, as being away from them for four years had been lengthy enough.

At the age of twenty-five in the year 1982, I got married to Jake Harris, a young man who my father introduced me to. He and my father both worked at Boeing.

My parents did the same for my husband and me as my grandpa had done for them. We had our wedding and honeymoon the same way they did. My husband moved in and we raised our daughter. The same house I lived in my entire life. My husband and I shared the same love my mom and dad did.

In 1984 we brought our daughter Sophia-Rose Maria Harris into the world. In 1986 I was pregnant a second time. Nature wasn’t as kind to me that time around. An ectopic pregnancy did severe damage to my fallopian tubes almost killing me. I had to have a hysterectomy and was unable to have any more children. My husband and I were heartbroken. My parents decided to get us tickets to Italy to spend some time together and heal. They would watch after our daughter for us. We were gone for two months.

We visited Rome, Venice, Milan, Naples, and Turin. The following month was spent in Sicily, where we had the opportunity to connect with my mother's relatives. Although it was beneficial to be surrounded by my cousins and their children, it also made us long for our own Sophia Rose.

Returning to Seattle was a delightful experience, and we both felt rejuvenated. While Jake resumed working with my father at Boeing, I resumed my interior design career.

In the year 2000, my parents were celebrating their 45th anniversary. That particular year marked a period of emotional difficulty, yet ultimately uplifting. Over several months, my dad diligently made preparations, including landscaping the garden and arranging for one of my light specialists to install outdoor lights. He had caterers come and make all the meals he and my mom ate on his first day in Seattle. It took our breath away.

My mother hadn’t been that nervous since that day they met. My dad stood in their garden waiting to give my mother a kiss. When he saw her, he couldn't believe how much more beautiful she’d gotten. They kissed then my father handed my mother a card that read;

“Cuore mio,,

Happy 45 years I promise to see you on our 46th!

Your love always,

Frank

They gazed at each other with the same expression they had 45 years ago, and in that moment, they rediscovered their love. It was a flawless experience - the ambiance, the cuisine, everything was absolutely perfect.

All that happiness came to an abrupt stop overnight as my mother's sudden illness struck. After running tests, the doctors determined that she had stage four breast cancer. The entire situation unfolded rapidly, leaving us with little time to bid her farewell. Only four short months after celebrating their 45th anniversary my mother passed away.

My father lost all reason, not even a month after her passing he fell ill and was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma. Was God angry with us for some reason? Did our family have a curse? Why was it happening to us? I couldn't comprehend and didn't understand.

I was bringing my father his dinner tray on the eve of my parents' 46th anniversary to find him in his eternal rest. He had kept the promise he made to my mother the previous year. He was there to be with her in Heaven. And my mother had kept her promise as well. There was a card on my mother's pillow next to my father. The envelope said, "Do not open until the night before our 45h." The note read,

“My darling,

I'll be waiting for you in the garden where we first kissed. I promise to be with you on our 46th and all the ones after for eternity.

Isabella

A sudden feeling of love and comfort possessed every inch of my body. An avalanche of tears. Comprehension of this moment seeing everything in their eyes. I asked my daughter to join me when it was time to place the card in the garden where they had their first kiss forty-six years before.

In 2008, I was voted as one of the best interior designers on the west coast. House Beautiful offered to feature me in their magazine if I agreed to renovate my parents' house. Naturally, I agreed as this was my major opportunity. The countertops and bathtubs were made of Italian marble, which I had imported from the city in Italy where my mother was born. The foundation had to be redone due to the heaviness of the marble, but it was necessary and worthwhile. Additionally, our garden was redesigned to highlight our collection of rose bushes. Ultimately, my family home became my greatest achievement.

I had no intention of selling it until a man presented me with an offer I couldn't turn down. He was suffering from leukemia, and he and his wife were deeply in love. Their love story began in Seattle, as she hailed from Italy and he hailed from San Francisco. His desire was to purchase the house of her dreams.

The allure of my house captivated them both; he was enchanted by the garden, while she was mesmerized by the marble. They were blessed with a daughter and a granddaughter. I had a deep conviction that I was making the right decision. I felt it was meant to be.

We completed the escrow process in 2010, and shortly after, the man passed away. The woman, along with her daughter and granddaughter, still resides in my family home. Following the man's wish, half of his ashes were scattered in a rose bush next to my family's rose bush. These roses continue to bloom every year on the first day of spring. I make visits on the days my father and I used to fly, knowing that they are all observing from a star in Heaven.