Chapter 3: The Final Choices of Master Samwise
Rose was buried under the magnificent golden mallorn, the tree grown from Sam's own loving hands, for Sam would not have had it any other way, and all around her mound he had planted flowers of pure white and pale pink. Not even in the days of his youth had he worked so painstakingly to tend a garden, never with such bittersweet labor. And even in years long after, Rose's flowers remained ever beautiful, with Sam's blessing, and the tears he shed upon the ground from which the seeds were sown.
Sam and his children had all gathered around her grave the day of her funeral in a massive huddle, clinging to each other tightly, all looking to one another for some kind of solace, but it seemed no words could alleviate the terrible pain of their loss.
Elanor, in particular, was deeply concerned for her father's sake. For she knew the impact on his heart was most devastating.
"Dad, I could stay with you here awhile, if you like. Fastred and I, we could…" "No." Sam interrupted, shaking his head decidedly. "No Ellie, I wouldn't want to become a burden on you, my dear. I'll have to work things out on my own, somehow. I don't want to be no trouble to you . It won't make you feel any better having to stay here. Don't worry about me." Elanor bit her lip, putting on her best attempt to stay strong.
"You could never be a burden on me, daddy. Never. I'm worried about you. Dad, if anything happened to you… I'd never forgive myself. Not if I could've done something to prevent it. Please, dad, I want to help you. I'll help you get through this. How can you do it alone?" And her lower lip trembled as she looked into her father's eyes, and she buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing softly.
"Ellie.. Oh, Ellie, don't cry on account of me. I'm old, darling, and I've lived my life. I've not much longer for this world, my dear, it can't be helped. But you, you've got your whole life ahead of you, you don't need to be fretting yourself for the likes of me. There's still so much for you to enjoy, and to be, and to do." And these last words bore a ringing familiarity in his heart. He knew that he had heard them before.
That night, Sam tossed and turned uselessly in his bed. It seemed to him that everything was just a painful reminder of his dearly departed Rose. Her scent still lingering in the empty blankets were a torment him, and the way the moonlight glared off of her vanity in the corner, casting eerie silhouettes all about the room. The rays of the sun could not brighten a room like his Rosie could, no flower he had ever grown could compare to her delicate beauty, no meal was ever satisfying when not made by her own meticulous hands. Nothing could ever be the same as long as Sam was alone. At last, he sat himself upright, though unable to let his eyes wander over to the now-vacant spot of their bed where his dear Rose used to lay. His throat constricted as all of the terrible events of the last few days came surging through his thought, plaguing his mind, and haunting his dreams. Consuming him, devouring away mercilessly, greedily, at his happiness, his very existence.
And suddenly, words spoken by his master so long ago came flooding back to his memory
"I am wounded, wounded; it will never really heal."
Sam had believed, up until now, that he had understood the magnitude of these words. But their true meaning had finally taken form -- and although the cause of the pain was vastly different, the resulting effect was just as viciously powerful. He knew at last what it was to have a hurt run so deep, strike so very hard, that the body could not physically withstand it. His heart was broken, his spirit faltering. A pain that would never go away for as long as he went on living.
His mind was terribly conflicted. He loved his children so very much; more than anything else in the world. But he knew that before long, and he suspected not very long at all, he would soon be leaving them whether he chose to or no. Then he thought of his wife, and wondered if he could live with himself by leaving her behind, leaving without laying to rest beside her for the rest of eternity.
"What am I to do? Oh, Rosie, if only I could speak with you.. Just one last time, that's all I need. I need help. My heart is broken. I'll die of heartache if I stay… but how can I leave? O, Elbereth help me! Where do I belong? Help me get where I belong."
And he plopped himself back down on his bed, burying his eyes in his hands, feeling very frightened, and uncertain, and more alone than he could ever remember feeling.
The following day, Sam visited her grave, and he knelt at her mound, tears flowing freely.
"Oh Rose… My dear, sweet Rosie…" and he paused, and made a valiant attempt to maintain his composure, wiping vainly at the tears spilling down his face.
" How I miss you… I miss you so very much.. So much… I can't begin to describe it." He bowed his head, trying to find the right words, some source of inspiration that would give him strength, make him feel more self-assured that his intent could possibly be justified.
"I'm afraid I'm in a terrible fix, Rose… You know that our family means more to me than anything. So I think you'll understand what I'm trying to say… I so hope you do. Now with the kids all grown up and all, they've moved on with their own lives, and now it's time I moved on.. I couldn't stand to be alone for long, waiting to just fade away… it'd be the death of me, I know it would… I need to find another place. A place where I can rest. Somewhere where I can be healed. I can't bear to spend my last days sad and miserable. It's not how it was meant to be. So please, my dear, I hope you understand… Do you understand? Oh, Rose…" and at last Sam broke down.
But then, as if in answer, the golden boughs of the magnificent mallorn swayed slightly, and the breeze carried an aura of reassurance and comfort upon it, and Sam's pained sobs were silenced. Something in the air had seem to have spoken to him, like a delicate whisper carrying upon it a message that only his ears could hear. He knelt there still, for a few more moments, in a deeply contemplative state. Then he raised his head, and lifted his eyes so that his eyes met the golden tree.
"All right then, my dear. It's settled. Tonight I go to the Grey Havens."
Rose was buried under the magnificent golden mallorn, the tree grown from Sam's own loving hands, for Sam would not have had it any other way, and all around her mound he had planted flowers of pure white and pale pink. Not even in the days of his youth had he worked so painstakingly to tend a garden, never with such bittersweet labor. And even in years long after, Rose's flowers remained ever beautiful, with Sam's blessing, and the tears he shed upon the ground from which the seeds were sown.
Sam and his children had all gathered around her grave the day of her funeral in a massive huddle, clinging to each other tightly, all looking to one another for some kind of solace, but it seemed no words could alleviate the terrible pain of their loss.
Elanor, in particular, was deeply concerned for her father's sake. For she knew the impact on his heart was most devastating.
"Dad, I could stay with you here awhile, if you like. Fastred and I, we could…" "No." Sam interrupted, shaking his head decidedly. "No Ellie, I wouldn't want to become a burden on you, my dear. I'll have to work things out on my own, somehow. I don't want to be no trouble to you . It won't make you feel any better having to stay here. Don't worry about me." Elanor bit her lip, putting on her best attempt to stay strong.
"You could never be a burden on me, daddy. Never. I'm worried about you. Dad, if anything happened to you… I'd never forgive myself. Not if I could've done something to prevent it. Please, dad, I want to help you. I'll help you get through this. How can you do it alone?" And her lower lip trembled as she looked into her father's eyes, and she buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing softly.
"Ellie.. Oh, Ellie, don't cry on account of me. I'm old, darling, and I've lived my life. I've not much longer for this world, my dear, it can't be helped. But you, you've got your whole life ahead of you, you don't need to be fretting yourself for the likes of me. There's still so much for you to enjoy, and to be, and to do." And these last words bore a ringing familiarity in his heart. He knew that he had heard them before.
That night, Sam tossed and turned uselessly in his bed. It seemed to him that everything was just a painful reminder of his dearly departed Rose. Her scent still lingering in the empty blankets were a torment him, and the way the moonlight glared off of her vanity in the corner, casting eerie silhouettes all about the room. The rays of the sun could not brighten a room like his Rosie could, no flower he had ever grown could compare to her delicate beauty, no meal was ever satisfying when not made by her own meticulous hands. Nothing could ever be the same as long as Sam was alone. At last, he sat himself upright, though unable to let his eyes wander over to the now-vacant spot of their bed where his dear Rose used to lay. His throat constricted as all of the terrible events of the last few days came surging through his thought, plaguing his mind, and haunting his dreams. Consuming him, devouring away mercilessly, greedily, at his happiness, his very existence.
And suddenly, words spoken by his master so long ago came flooding back to his memory
"I am wounded, wounded; it will never really heal."
Sam had believed, up until now, that he had understood the magnitude of these words. But their true meaning had finally taken form -- and although the cause of the pain was vastly different, the resulting effect was just as viciously powerful. He knew at last what it was to have a hurt run so deep, strike so very hard, that the body could not physically withstand it. His heart was broken, his spirit faltering. A pain that would never go away for as long as he went on living.
His mind was terribly conflicted. He loved his children so very much; more than anything else in the world. But he knew that before long, and he suspected not very long at all, he would soon be leaving them whether he chose to or no. Then he thought of his wife, and wondered if he could live with himself by leaving her behind, leaving without laying to rest beside her for the rest of eternity.
"What am I to do? Oh, Rosie, if only I could speak with you.. Just one last time, that's all I need. I need help. My heart is broken. I'll die of heartache if I stay… but how can I leave? O, Elbereth help me! Where do I belong? Help me get where I belong."
And he plopped himself back down on his bed, burying his eyes in his hands, feeling very frightened, and uncertain, and more alone than he could ever remember feeling.
The following day, Sam visited her grave, and he knelt at her mound, tears flowing freely.
"Oh Rose… My dear, sweet Rosie…" and he paused, and made a valiant attempt to maintain his composure, wiping vainly at the tears spilling down his face.
" How I miss you… I miss you so very much.. So much… I can't begin to describe it." He bowed his head, trying to find the right words, some source of inspiration that would give him strength, make him feel more self-assured that his intent could possibly be justified.
"I'm afraid I'm in a terrible fix, Rose… You know that our family means more to me than anything. So I think you'll understand what I'm trying to say… I so hope you do. Now with the kids all grown up and all, they've moved on with their own lives, and now it's time I moved on.. I couldn't stand to be alone for long, waiting to just fade away… it'd be the death of me, I know it would… I need to find another place. A place where I can rest. Somewhere where I can be healed. I can't bear to spend my last days sad and miserable. It's not how it was meant to be. So please, my dear, I hope you understand… Do you understand? Oh, Rose…" and at last Sam broke down.
But then, as if in answer, the golden boughs of the magnificent mallorn swayed slightly, and the breeze carried an aura of reassurance and comfort upon it, and Sam's pained sobs were silenced. Something in the air had seem to have spoken to him, like a delicate whisper carrying upon it a message that only his ears could hear. He knelt there still, for a few more moments, in a deeply contemplative state. Then he raised his head, and lifted his eyes so that his eyes met the golden tree.
"All right then, my dear. It's settled. Tonight I go to the Grey Havens."