It was winter and gone were the rows of cheery colored annuals and sweet smelling rose?s that caressed our senses during the warm summer days. The freshly mowed green lawns that held us in it?s cool soothing embrace were now covered with snow.
We had come back. To the botanical garden in the State Park, hoping to be comforted again. All we found was endless snow, cold and white, like a blank canvas that some artist had abandoned, void of all feelings.
I was numb, as I carried my little girl, now so frail and brittle, like the branches that hung from the frozen winter trees. She seemed like she could snap, so thin, so ill. How did our lives become so tragic I thought. It seemed like only yesterday she was running in this garden, every flower bowed to her beauty and innocence, so golden, so full of life.
The sun peeked out from behind a cloud and shone on the stone alcove with the slate bench. It looked so protected from the cold winter day, so inviting, I bundled her to me and walked over to it and sat down with her upon my lap. A moment of reprieve. A brief feeling of peace, as the warm sun kissed our weary faces.
A young mother and her dying daughter sitting together cherishing time. We have made so many visits to this beautiful spot. In every season it has comforted us.
?I love this place,? said a weak little voice from under the warm wooly blanket.
?We have many good memories in this garden,? I answered. ?Why you took your first steps over there, by the rose hedge, for Daddy and me.?
?I like the fountain the best Mommy,? she whispered to me with her sweet little voice. I looked over at the fountain, just a few feet away, surrounded by a circular slate path. It was a large ornate round stone fountain very old. It had been imported from Italy by the Architects who designed the garden many years ago. I stood up and carried my daughter over to the fountain. We walked around it admiring it?s design once again. Carved at the back base was a bouquet of flowers and vegetables a tribute to the harvest. As we circled around to the front their was the face of a cherub, chubby and angelic with masses of curls upon it?s head. I had seen this angel?s face more times than I cared to remember. The sun was shining directly on its curls, they seemed to glow. I felt like I was seeing the sculpure for the first time. Jennifer reached out her withered little hand and caressed the face. ?This is your angel Mommy,? she said. I felt a lump grow in my throat. I had to fight back the tears.
?Now you know you will always be my angel,? I replied.
?Yes I know that,? answered her little voice, ?But this will be your angel.? She was very determined as she looked at me with those big blue eyes filled with love and understanding beyond her four years. We hugged and for a moment there was only pure happiness.
I came back to the garden in the spring with my husband after she passed away. spring is a powerful tonic for those that mourn. It soothes the soul and helps for awhile, to ease the pain of loss.
Time passed, seasons came and went and God gave me another child, a son. In early spring when he was just two and there was still a touch of winter in the air I bought him back to the botanical garden. The snow drops and daffodils were beginning to make a show.
I sat down on the slate bench once again. He did not want to stay on my lap he was a very energetic and curious little lad. He was always exploring. always moving. I watched him as he ran around the garden. He was so different from her. He was my little son and yet I felt I was still grieving to deeply for my daughter. I wished I could be more free, to enjoy my son. I was struggling with it when I heard him call out to me. I looked up but I did not see him. I knew he had called from the direction of the fountain. I rose and walked over to it. Suddenly, up he popped from the inside of the empty fountain, laughing as he placed his chubby little hands around my neck . I laughed out loud at his sense of humor, climbing up and hiding from me and surprising me like that. I looked at him in a new light, as he leaned over the base of the fountain smiling at me. He was directly over the cherub?s head with the mass of curls. I was stunned for a second because I realized, in amazement, that he looked exactly like the angel?s face carved into the fountain. The same chubby face and mass of curls popped up again laughing and flew into my arms. I remembered my daughter?s words. ?This is your angel Mommy.? I hugged my son and knew for certain that a small miracle had taken place. I felt a lightness and peace come upon me that I had not felt for some time.
Now I understood what my daughter was telling me on that day so long ago. I knew then that I would no longer grieve so deeply for her. I whispered, ?thank you Jennifer,? as I took my son?s hand and together we walked across the garden into spring?s bright season of hope.
Linda Doty is a published author of children's books. Her picture book, In Search of the Robin, is a true adventure she had with her sons after a long cold winter. Her chapter book, "The Christmas Doll," is the new Christmas classic. http://www.headintheclouds.cjb.net
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