Lilies and Butterflies

Sometimes the ring feels heavier on its chain than others. My sister says that's when he's around. I tried to argue that I always seemed to be grieving when it feels the heaviest. She said that just proves her point. He's here because I'm suffering.

That just made me feel guilty. I didn't say that because she'd reply with something like we made an oath to each other or something like that.

Yeah. A till death do us part oath. Well. Death parted us.

The baby cries from the other room. I pick her up and rock her. I wonder if she misses him, the man she never knew. Logically I know she doesn't miss him, not yet. She misses my milk, the comfort of being held against warm skin, and having a dry diaper. Sometimes though, she'll do something that makes me pause. She'll stare off into space mid cry as though something unseen has grabbed her attention. When that happens, I shake my head and just pick her up. I tell myself to stop being ridiculous.

I have a complicated relationship with religion, but if I accept the reality that there is a "Great Beyond," there's no coming back or sticking around. At least, that's what I was always brought up to believe. If any souls did stick around, they were those who were damned. If I knew one thing, he wasn't one of the damned. He couldn't ever be. My sister broke away from our parents and their beliefs early, but I was the good girl. I continued to go to church; until it happened, that is.

The accident robbed me of the very ground I stood on. I couldn't believe my Mother's version of God would rob me of my happiness, my center, my world. I couldn't conceive that any benevolent being would ever steal my little girl's father. My family's attempts to find meaning in his death only made me resentful. There was no meaning to be found. Their assurance we would be 'fine' that we were "prepared for this" sent me into a rage.

Our accounts logged in a black leather-bound book were undoubtedly fine. In fact, we would probably be considered rich. I hadn't really known that before the accident. I was always focused on saving. He chuckled and told me not to worry that he made some wise investments several years before. I didn't find out just how 'wisely' he invested until the will was read. My Mother gasped at the amount and jokingly wondered why we drove used cars. The baby's college was paid for. I didn't have to work if I didn't want to. None of that mattered, though. I'd choose impoverishment if it meant having him back. That choice wasn't available to me, though. My parents talk of reasons, and money grated at me until I snapped. I cut contact with all my family but my sister.

She never pressed me into her beliefs. Never talked about money. Never protested living with me and helping me raise her. I knew if I asked her, even once, to stop saying he was still around, she'd immediately drop the subject and never bring it up again. I won't admit it, but her insistence that he is still here is somehow bolstering to me. Even the argument. I think I would love to believe as she does, and I keep hoping she'll say the one thing to convince me.

I look down at the beautiful face peeking from the swaddle in my arms. She got his features. It's so wonderfully bittersweet just to stare at her. I still can't say her name. My sister doesn't either, not after that day—the day of the funeral. The day I learned what her name meant—the flower of death. I also can't bring myself to call her anything else. He named her.

I hadn't been involved in the preparations. I was still in the hospital recovering from the accident and her emergency birth. I couldn't bring myself to leave her side anyway. The service was delayed until she could leave, and I was healed enough to be pushed around in a wheelchair. His well-intentioned parents were also greiving, and left a lot of the preparations to the funeral director. Somehow, no one told him that the white flowers were his newborn daughter's namesake.

She's drifted off now. My sister is urging me to get some sleep. I know I should listen. The numbness has started to overcome me again, though. I let my sister take the baby and robotically move to the bed alongside her crib. Even through the numbness, I still can't leave her. Even to be separated by a door. If she isn't in my line of sight, I stop being able to breathe. Unfortunately, beyond my care for her, I have none for myself or anything else once the numbness sets in. My sister recognizes the signs and purses her lips. She leaves the room and returns with a cup of water and a pill. I know that I'll be groggy tomorrow if I take the medication, but I don't care about that.

"If I take it, you need to sleep in here."

"I know." She looks down at me and continues to hold it out. Once I go numb, she knows I won't sleep until my body loses the ability to remain conscious. Or I'm purposefully knocked out. I take the antihistamine and glass of water from her, knocking it back with one swallow. I lay down. Luckily I pumped earlier because after taking one of these, I never breastfeed the day after. According to the doctor, the effects should be out of my system after twelve hours, and I'm overly cautious. I don't care. She's all I have left.

As my sister lays down next to me in the double bed, as the pill begins to steal my consciousness. The last thing I see is the butterfly mobile over her bed. It gently spins without any airflow.

My sister's dragged me to the flower gardens. I just wanted to let the numbness engulf me. Being around other humans sounds like the absolute worst thing in the world, especially when they're happy on this day that dares to be sunny. It feels like there should never be a sunny day ever again if he's not here to share it with. I look down at her in the stroller. Her cheeks are red with the force of her smile, her laugh. His smile. Maybe sunny days aren't so bad.

Then we round a corner. I feel my knees go weak. White flowers abound. My sister's talking, apologizing. Saying she didn't know they were here.

Out of nowhere, an elderly woman with a craggy grin appears next to me.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

Before my sister or I can say a word, she speaks again.

"Innocence and beauty, you know?"

"Excuse me?" My voice sounds foreign to my ears, with the blood still rushing through my head.

"The flowers. Their meaning is innocence and beauty."

"But... but... they're used at funerals?"

She nods sagely. "Well, why shouldn't they be?"

"It's... death."

"And death is just another journey of life. Why not wish people well on their next journey with the hope of peace, purity, and all the other meanings associated with these flowers?"

I'm at a loss for words.

"Ah, change, renewal, and rebirth. Someone's smiling down on you, little one." I look down to see a beautiful blue monarch has landed on the stroller hood. She reaches and laughs, her fist closing over empty air. Black and blue were his favorite colors.

Right then, I feel a tug on the ring and chain hanging about my neck.

I smile. He is here.