Where
flowers come to die.
As I turned
the corner the image that fell into view took me there in an instant. I struggled to focus and take it all in, but
I knew I had found the place. It might
have taken me over 18 years but this was definitely the place. But I wasn’t alone so I pushed the feelings
to the deep recess and concentrated on taking the photographs. I didn’t want to capture this image but I
absolutely knew that I had to. I could
then visit this place as often as I wanted to and that would surely give me
some comfort in the years ahead.
It had been
over 18 years, I knew that because my lovely daughter Molly is 18 now and how
she shines. She shines everywhere she
goes and she is my guiding light. When
she arrived into the world I could feel the beginning of my healing and I truly
believe that, over the years, she has healed me. She came into my life and helped to rub out
what had gone before. A new baby
breathes life into your world in a way that you can never imagine and Molly did
that for me. Everything changed after
Molly arrived. I became a different
person with a different set of needs and desires and that spilled out into my
life and has continued to spill all these years. So I am grateful for Molly and I will always
be grateful.
Sometimes,
just occasionally, I realise that her arrival was not quite enough. I realise that the pain is still there and I
can feel it in every nerve in my body.
It begins quite slowly at first but eventually it crushes my breathing
and it crushes my soul. I have no
control as I submit to the pain as it washes over me and takes me back to that
journey.
A journey
that started with such joy and such certainty.
From the very beginning I knew it was right and I knew it was a journey
that I need to travel on just to see how it would end. I never, however, imagined it would end as it
did. Was it always going to end like
that? I like to think that it ended
quite suddenly with no pain. I couldn’t
bear it if there was any pain.
Granted, it
was a relatively short journey but to me it felt a lot longer. It filled me with fear and hope, both at the
same time and that is a very powerful combination. You fear to hope and that puts your entire
life on the edge. Living on the edge is
dangerous but it makes you feel alive. I
felt alive and I felt its life and the two became one. Throughout the journey I held
conversations. Single words to start with
and then short phrases and, eventually, whole stories. Since those early days and that journey I
have always told stories. My four
wonderful children have listened to my stories all their lives and I am
grateful for their kind ears. Stories
should be told and then mostly forgotten.
Just occasionally a story will be remembered. I remember this story and I will never forget
it. I could never forget it and will
take it into death with me. It is
perhaps the only story I will take into death with me.
I remember
the day those stories shortened once more and became a single word. It became a name and I held onto each
syllable as the name arrived and became real.
It became as real as the sky above.
It too was full and empty both at the same time and, like the sky, it
was beautiful. From that point on the
stories became fuller and the conversations more meaningful and I loved that
new part of the journey. I made lots of
promises. I promised to always do my
best and always be there and I meant every word. In the many, many stories that I have told my
four children I have always made sure there is something real in there. Sometimes it is quite small and sometimes it
is hidden, but it is always there. I
hope that one day they will remember the real bits as they are my messages to
them. I want those messages to keep them
safe when I am not around every day to watch over them. When they leave to become whole I want the
messages to follow them around. Molly
will leave soon but I know, without any doubt, that she understands her
messages and that she will hold onto them very dearly. I know a lot about Molly.
Despite all
the stories and all the messages this short, but precious journey is the
greatest of them all. As it reached its
final stage I had no knowing. I had no
sense that it was about to end and perhaps that is why I have never let the
journey finish. When I turned the corner
and saw my image I knew that I had to let at least part of the journey
end. Lying on small woodland floor were
so many flowers just starting to curl and brown at their edges. Just starting
to die and let go. They looked beautiful
and they looked after each other. The
light streamed in through the trees and rested on their petals and kept them
warm. These beautiful warm flowers were
dying and I knew that but I wasn’t sad.
I stepped into them very gently to take a better photograph and, in that
moment, something escaped from me. It
seeped away slowly and took its place among the flowers and I stepped
back. I had no sense of what that was
and I am not sure I wanted to know.
I found it
difficult to leave that space. I felt
that I was leaving something behind. But
I did leave and once, along the path, I turned to look back. I couldn’t see the dying flowers anymore but
I could see the path that led there and that was enough for me. It was as if I could see the journey all over
again. I could remember every day, hour
and second of that 13 week journey and I could remember the life that was
growing inside me. I could remember his
name, Thomas, and I could remember our conversations. I loved the hope and I hated the fear, but
above all I mourned that I didn’t know the journey was going to end. I thought I knew the ending. Thomas would arrive just like his little
sister did almost a year later. He would
be mine just as she is mine.
Thomas did
not arrive as Molly did. One crisp Christmas
morning he seeped away from me and I tried so hard to hold onto him. I felt that I had let him down and I still
feel like that. I wanted to keep him
safe and he just seeped away and I never even saw him. The doctor saw him and just wrapped him up
and he was gone. When he left me I still
told him stories. That night, Christmas
night, I told him stories with messages to keep him safe and messages to tell
him how much I loved him. I have always
loved him, but now he has truly left me.
Once more he seeped away from me but this time I was ready to let him
go. My beautiful baby boy was sleeping
among the warm flowers. When I die I will return to that spot and collect
him. I will take him into death with me
so that I can always keep him safe. For
now, though, he is safe and he is warm and I can tell stories to my five
children and just hope that my tiny messages are getting through.
xxxxx
