This is an analogy of my pregnancy and death of my daughter
related to a flower. Kira died by lying on her umbilical cord while
I was at the hospital in labor. It was too late to save her.
One day as I sat by my window,
I looked
out and saw that autumn had gone-winter was here.
I quietly took
in all the changes in the scenery-bare trees,
dead grass, empty
land.
My eyes drifted across a desolate field.
Near the edge I saw
something queer to me.
As I quickly dressed in warm gear,
I tried to
comprehend what I had seen.
No, this can't be happening, I
thought.
It's a miracle!
I ran to the field and saw an unbelievable
sight.
A small seedling was growing all alone at the edge.
It was
only a shoot that had somehow
managed to break through the
semi-frozen ground,
but I knew if I nurtured it, it would grow to bloom
and reproduce.
I decided to keep this miracle a secret.
I didn't
want people to discourage my intent
to harbor this fragile
blossom.
As days passed my secret continued to grow slowly and
steadily.
Winter passed into spring and spring into summer.
As time continued
on, I grew to love my special joy more and more.
I loved to
watch it grow
and couldn't wait for the day that it would finally
flower.
Eventually a bud appeared and I excitedly awaited the new
arrival.
Summer was almost over.
As I sat talking to my growing beauty,
I saw
the first petals of a bud begin to unfold.
I was enthralled in
the beauty of it all.
And as the sun descended, ending another
day,
I vowed to be there the next morn to witness the birth of a
flower.
As I walked up to my special spot expecting to see
the joy of a
new beginning,
I could barely comprehend what I saw!
Disaster
had struck.
My beautiful plant was no longer standing.
It was
dead, the stem crushed to the ground.
WHY, I screamed to the vast
sky!
It was a miracle of life.
It had withstood the dead of winter
only to be extinguished at the dawn of its blossoming.
I looked
in vain to see the cause of its crushed stem.
Only then did I
see the beauty of it.
The bud was open, it had blossomed!
It was
a fragile pink flower.
My fragile flower-for I had nourished
it for so long.
As I reflected upon all my sorrow wondering why
I had been hurt so bad,
I realized I had been let down.
I had
grown accustomed to the presence of my flower.
Naturally I assumed
that something that could bring me such joy
would be around quite
a long time.
I no longer looked to put the blame of its death
on anything.
For it was special, it had lived.
And I would
always cherish my memories of watching it grow
and seeing it get
stronger.
Although I would never experience the joy of the live blossom
or the
reproduction of more of its kind,
I know my love for it will live forever
in my heart.
Many years from now I'll always think of the joy
my fragile flower brought to me
and remember that nothing lives
forever.
So love it hard while you have it!
(c) 1998 Shelley Mousseau
All Rights Reserved
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