Ally's Flowers by Sandy Brannan
Ally let her fingertips lightly caress the tops of the blooms before bending down to gently smell one. She was grateful she was able to do that now. Everything had been painful for such a long time, even a beautiful field of wildflowers had weighed her down. Now she found peace in the beauty that surrounded her, the beauty she was finally able to see.
Glancing up at the sky, she was glad the pain was finally gone, glad the sunshine no longer hurt her eyes when she looked at it.
The flowers seemed perfect to her. Their colors were somehow vibrant and muted at the same time. She smiled as she thought how perfectly that mirrored what she felt in her heart. The love she felt for her children sometimes came to her with such strength, enough to overpower her, causing her to fall to her knees with the beautiful agony of it. Other times it lurked just below the surface, not quite making its presence fully known, pulling at her with unseen fingers. She had finally learned to live with these strange feelings, learned to accept them as blessings instead of allowing them to torment her like they had for so many years.
As the sun began to set, Ally realized she needed to head on back home. John would start to worry if she stayed out too late, and no one knew better than she did how she had made the man suffer over the years.
Knowing the flowers would still be in the field the next time she decided to take a walk, Ally bent down to break off one bloom to take back with her. She chose a yellow one, smiling as she softly tucked it behind her ear. She always chose yellow; the color reminded her of the dandelions that seemed to grow in yards everywhere, the weeds most people despised. She let a tear fall as she thought about how children never seemed to see the little yellow flowers as weeds, how they always wanted to pluck as many as their tiny hands could grasp, how their love caused them to want to give their bouquets of flowers away.
When Ally got home a few minutes later, she slipped into the sunroom John had added to the side of their home after the last time. He had seen how the darkness threatened to consume his wife. Desperate to help her, to keep her with him, he had built the room of glass, hoping the sunshine that poured in would somehow pour into his wife too. To his surprise, it had worked. Ally spent time in her new room every day, often several times a day. John didn’t mind. He would do anything to help his wife with her pain. Ally walked over to the small jar she had carefully cleaned a long time ago. She remembered scrubbing the label off its side after she and John had scraped the last bits of strawberry jelly from its insides. She had gotten a little sad that day as she had pictured a small child asking for the delicate piece of glass, wanting to use it as a vase, wanting to fill it with water and the flowers of a child’s dream before giving it all back to her.
She had the vase, but not the child. No, Ally didn’t have any of them, had never truly had them, but they were all hers. As she added the yellow bloom to the others it made her smile to see that a few had started to dry up a bit. She could only imagine how many dried flowers she would have had if any of her children had lived, but she was grateful for this reminder of how life could have been. The flowers reminded her of the children who would always belong to her.
John peeked around the corner watching his wife for a few seconds before asking her to join him. When Ally stood up, leaving the jar of flowers behind her, she walked across the room and into the arms of her husband.
Breathing in his scent as he gently kissed the top of her head, she thought about how easily she fit inside his embrace, how perfect they were for each other, how blessed they were in spite of it all.
She knew, as they let go of each other and started to head inside their home, that some things were not meant to be understood. She had always wanted a house overflowing with children, and John had felt the same way. Every time they had gotten pregnant they truly believed it would happen for them, truly believed they would live out their dream of being parents. Time and time again they had planned to bring a baby home, but it never happened.
Ally heard the door click shut behind John. She knew she was leaving her sunroom and even her precious field of wildflowers behind. Looking up into the eyes of the man she knew would have been the best daddy in the world, she couldn’t help but think about her heavenly Father. In spite of her disappointments, maybe even because of them, she knew God loved her, had a plan for her, understood her pain better than anyone.
Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, she knew she would find her way to the flowers again.
She would remember her babies as she walked through the field, would think about the way God loved them even more than she did, and smile as she touched the soft blooms while feelings full of blessings washed over her, softly taking away a little more of the agony of her loss with each visit.
Ally climbed into bed beside John and listened to the quiet. So many nights she had put her head back on her pillow as her tears flowed, listening to the sounds of babies and children that would never fill their home. Tonight the quiet comforted her. When John reached over and squeezed her hand, she squeezed back, grateful that they were going to be okay.
Sandy Brannan, author of Becoming Invisible, So Much Stays Hidden, Masquerade, and Frozen in Time, teaches middle and high school English. She also is a contributing writer for The Real Deal of Parenting and Her View From Home. Sandy's idea of a perfect day is one spent creating memories with her grandchildren. This usually includes coloring and reading a lot of books. You can read more of her work on her blog at sandybrannan.com. Sandy is also active on social media facebook.com/sandybrannanauthor and instagram.com/sandybrannanauthor. You can follow her on Amazon at amazon.com/author.sandybrannan.