As I stepped into Grandma Rosemary’s cottage, I felt a sense of displacement. The decaying house, so unlike my existence in New York, seemed to evoke thoughts of a bygone youth.”Grandma,” I whispered to the empty area, apologizing for missing her funeral. I strolled through the rooms, each photograph of us together eliciting a wave of regret for my previous behavior and attitude.

I recall being uncomfortable about her job as a street sweeper, and now I’m ashamed of how I treated her. “Hugo, honey, please move to the side. Be careful. “Watch out!” she warned me as we walked to school, but I never listened. Running my fingertips over the study table she had got me, which I had discarded because it was not a game console, I grimaced at the thought of my own rudeness.

“Grandma, what about this old thing? Seriously?” I’d scoffed.And in the kitchen, where I had dismissed her food, claiming she was simply attempting to be innovative with limited resources, I saw my ungratefulness. “I’ll make your favorite next time, honey bee!” she would exclaim, attempting to keep a promise she couldn’t keep, while I grew increasingly irritated.

Entering her bedroom, which was littered with possessions such as a wooden crib and a partially stitched shirt she had been making for me, I was impressed by her unwavering optimism. “It’s unbelievable, Grandma! On a scale of ten, how certain were you that I would come to visit you after all these years? I mused regretfully.

The prom catastrophe from eight years ago resurfaced, reminding me of my secret yearning for an expensive suit and my hatred of her financial constraints. After being mocked at school, I stormed home, embarrassed.”Honey bee, open the door. Is this a girl? Did she reject your proposal, or something?” Grandma inquired, her voice full of worry, but I shut her out, annoyed and angry. She had waited for me to join her for supper that night, but I declined, leaving her alone and concerned.

The next morning, she tried to make peace with a lovely breakfast, but I dismissed her again in my haste. I also remembered defending her from my friends’ taunts, my cheeks burning with shame. “Shut up, guys!” “Just shut up.” I’d snapped. Grandma, unaware of the derision, approached me with cookies. “Here, my boy,” she had said quietly.

“I do not want these blasted things! Stop, Grandma! Enough with your motions. “I am so ashamed of you!” I’d yelled, badly wounding her, as evidenced by the drop in her shoulders as I walked away.Despite everything, she managed to surprise me with the suit I had requested. “H-How did you know that I wanted this…” I asked, astonished.

“I caught you looking at it outside the boutique! “I worked extra hours every day to afford it,” she added, her smile highlighting the wrinkles on her cheeks. “I adore you, Grandma…”I love you so much!” I had exclaimed, giving her the largest embrace, but my gratitude was short lived. I couldn’t believe it as she joyfully prepared to accompany me to prom, dressed to the nines. “To the prom?” Grandmother, are you kidding me? “No way!” I laughed, crushing her heart once more.

A few weeks later, dressed in her nicest, Grandma Rosemary went to the school with her colleagues to support me at my graduation. Seeing them there, instead of feeling proud, I took a decision to safeguard my reputation. I hired the security guy to deny them admission, and all I saw was my grandma and the other sanitation workers being hauled out despite their protests. I chose my buddies over her that day, as I usually had.

When I returned home, Grandma had planned a celebration for my graduation and forthcoming birthday, but I was too resentful. “Why did you come to my school, Grandma?” I demanded, unable to conceal my frustration. Her confusion just heightened my rage, as I accused her and her coworkers of attempting to shame me.Days later, on my 18th birthday, I left mom behind to pursue my goals in the city, despite her pleas to stay.

My contact with her dwindled over time, and by the time she became ill, I was too preoccupied with my music tour to visit. She died alone, and I learned about her passing years later. Now, back at her place, I was swamped by regrets and memories. But my thoughts were interrupted by a knock. Simon, Grandma’s neighbor, handed me an urn and a letter expressing her desire for her ashes to be strewn in the sea—another inconvenience from my grandma.

Simon also brought Sunny, Grandma’s dog, which I did not want to care for. Frustrated, I scoured the cottage for anything valuable but discovered nothing.
“Look at you, grandmother! What did you earn after years of cleaning and scouring the streets? NOTHING! So, what did you leave me? NOTHING! Just an urn with your ashes! Great!” I vented, but I knew I was angry with myself.

The next day, in the attic, I discovered a box containing insignificant objects as well as an old diary. I was about to begin reading it when Sunny’s barking at a rat interrupted me. I pushed over his Grandma Rosemary’s urn from a neighboring table, causing it to break and reveal a locket amid her ashes. When I asked Simon, he explained Grandma’s request to include the locket within. So I started reading her diary, with Sunny by my side.

The pages transported me back to Grandmother Rosemary’s youth in 1949. She resided in an orphanage and was visited by a philanthropist named Anna and her son Henry. Grandma had removed Anna’s scarf, causing a fight with Henry, but Anna’s generosity turned things around.
She gave her the scarf, unintentionally sparking a bond between Henry and Rosemary.

Their bond grew over the years. When they were older, Henry’s confession of love and proposal left Grandma torn. “Rosie, will you be mine?” he asked on their favorite beach near the orphanage, but she just regarded him as a friend. Despite her refusal, Henry swore to wait for her even after he relocated to London.

Flipping through Grandma Rosemary’s diary, I noticed a startling emptiness—pages bereft of her stories, except for an old, unposted envelope addressed to ‘Henry.’Driven by a desire to learn more about their lives, I bought a new urn for Grandma’s ashes and set off on a journey to find Henry, accompanied by Sunny, whom I had suddenly gotten attached to.”Sunny, old pal, it looks like we’re in this together! Let us unearth Grandma’s secrets, shall we?” I spoke to him.

After a succession of bus travels, hitchhiking, and motel stays, Sunny and I arrived to a magnificent mansion in a city that was meant to be Henry’s residence. An elderly guy altered our direction, directing us to a modest cottage with a rose garden in a coastal village an hour distant. We were greeted by an old Henry. Before I could explain myself, Henry’s gruff voice interrupted, “You’re not getting any of my roses, do you hear me?

“Get out of my property!” Sunny responded to his remarks with a protective bark.”I’m Rosemary’s grandson!” I blurted out, bracing for his response.Henry’s demeanor changed quickly. “Ro-Rose-Rosemary’s…” he mumbled, tears welling up in his eyes. “Come inside! “Come in,” he pushed. His house mirrored the trinkets and mismatched furniture that Grandma would have adored.

I explained why I was visiting Henry, displaying him Grandma Rosemary’s diaries and her unposted letter to him. After receiving the unpostmarked letter, Henry mourned, “Oh, Rosie, why didn’t you come back? “Why did you leave me?” His hands trembled as he touched the relics of the past. His sadness grew when I displayed the locket containing their photographs.

“What happened after you left for London?” I asked.Henry admitted, his voice crushed by anguish, that when he returned, Rosemary had moved away and no longer loved him. “Rosie had taken my heart for eternity…just like she took that red scarf,” he added, becoming quiet and lost in reverie. “Perhaps your parents lied to you, Henry. Why would Grandma abandon you when she truly loved you?

Maybe they warned her to keep away from you because she was poor,” I offered, showing him the new urn I’d purchased. “Your Rosemary hasn’t gone anywhere,” I informed him. “She is right in front of you…””I think it’s time to say goodbye.” Together, we went to the beach, their haven, and spread her ashes while listening to the waves and seagulls.

I quickly resumed my normal routine with Sunny by my side. I incorporated Grandma’s narrative into my music, writing songs that acted as an apology to my former self and a tribute to her long-lasting love story with Henry. This work was my most successful. After Henry died a year later, I remembered their friendship by sprinkling his ashes in the same area. “Now, you can be together,” I said as I played one of my tunes.