White Flowers

January 26, 2012
By Anonymous

I wake to the emptiness of my bed and the moon shines through the window, illuminating the obvious. I whisper your name, but there is no response. Sliding my feet out from the covers, I toe my way to the door and glance down the hallway. The sun hasn’t yet peaked through the windows, its absence leaving the hard wood floor cold against my bare feet.

When I reach the living room I see you unconsciously walking the land of dreams from a thickly padded couch. Your face pressed against the book in front of you. And I see the silver waterfalls that had splashed unyieldingly, soaking through the bound pages in your hand and smearing the words. The ring on your left hand catches the light from a forgotten lamp and I feel an uncontrollable smile creep across my face. It is quickly chased away by the inescapable sadness that follows from seeing you hurting. I stand and watch you dreaming peacefully and see your young face, smooth skin, and dark hair. But underneath I know the black flower of hurt grows stubbornly greater every day, marring the young appearance of innocence.

Memories of a rainy day penetrate the usual wall of my consciousness. Memories of a searing cramp in my heart, an open box and white flowers everywhere. The undersized box wrought the most pain. The tiny face of my love was silently waiting to be at peace. Why did he have to be so young? Why were his eyes so like his mothers? The blue eyes and dark hair sitting next to me were filled with longing and salty mist. I grasped her small frail hand and knew it is the only thing holding me to life.

I silently watch the same hand, it the night, the ring shining clearly on her fourth finger. I lean in a kiss her hair. It smells like flowers. She stirs.
“Hey, what are you doing awake?” her voice whispers, breaking the silence.
I sit with a deep sigh, “I saw that you were gone… how are you?” Silence is the only answer I receive. I pause as the silence echoes. I lean forward and in a low voice, “I need you to know that I promise to love you forever, and after we both follow our son I will love you still. No matter what happens, you will always have my heart.”
Her eyes fill as she sits up. Her arm reaches around my back as she pulled me close. I feel her cold breath on my ear as she murmurs, “I know... ”

The author's comments:
I wrote this story after watching a movie in which a little kid dies. I thought about how the parents reacted and wondered how anyone could survive losing a child like that.

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