By Erica Steele
I’m sorry, Mom. Please don’t die. Which flowers said that? Lilies? No, those were for weddings and funerals. Roses? For lovers. Mums? Too plain. Sunflowers? Too bold. Eeny, meeny…hell. I was debating flowers while she was dying. I’d hated her for leaving Dad, but now I just hated myself. I grabbed a $4.99 bouquet of white daisies.
Like a newborn she was jaundiced and tiny, swaddled against the frigid air.
Her bloodshot eyes brightened. “Lovely flowers.”
I collapsed, sobbing amidst I.V. lines and antiseptic blankets.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She kissed my head with parched lips and whispered, “I love you. Always.”
Beautiful. Love the line that begins like a newborn…
Thank you!
Wow. Very powerful and emotional story. Excellent read!
Thank you so much! I appreciate your comments.
So heartfelt, you can feel the love and anguish!
Wonderful piece. Loved the descriptions of flowers for different occasions.
‘There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.’ The language of flowers, daisies for innocence, the connectivity of death and birth through swaddling and shroud (both white), faithfulness and remembrance are I believe tied up with echoes of Ophelia’s scene in this piece.
Heart-warming and heart-breaking all at once. Great job!