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Within the Flowers

A short story about a mother I loved and lost.

By Victoria HartleyPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
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Photo Credit: Claire Quinot

I lock my door and turn off my lights, dirty tears run down my face as I smear mascara with my shaky hands. I sit alone, numb, thinking why couldn’t it be me. I whisper to her looking for a response, “Mom, I miss you, I love you, you didn’t deserve this…You were my world. I’m so sorry I was mean to you before you left us, I didn’t mean it;” there was no response. I spoke to her every day for months, I wondered why she hasn’t replied, does she not love and miss me back?

I never knew death would cause me to go through so many painstaking stages to just accept what has happened. I surrounded myself with dark light as I thought, Cancer should die, she has killed millions and somehow she ends up immortal, unblamed and not punished. If Cancer died no one would be sad, we’d cheer in relief that our own loved ones would no longer suffer.

Today I was able to get out of bed, I went to a church across the block from my mother’s soon to be dug grave. My mom was a Catholic. I never really had an interest in religion, I like to live free as my own with my own beliefs, but I went for her. I met a priest for the first time in my life and I prayed. That night and the nights after I prayed again, to God, again and again I begged and bargained promises to him that I would return in favor if he’d let me smile again, even just once.

It is now September, it has been a year since she has left me. I no longer cry, I am sad, but I keep it private, I bid our relationship a farewell in my heart and my mind. When I wake up I see the sun, it reminds me of her. I have hope to see her again, blooming and brilliant as ever.

For some reason, I realized it was time to move on, I can accept the fact she isn’t with me in the physical world but I know she will always be with me in spirit. She reponds back to me now, not in voice but in the flowers, the wind and especially the sun. I wonder if she knows I visit her often.

When November rolls around, I remember it’s her birthday. I decided to buy her flowers to make her feel just as beautiful as she did. Standing over her grave, I gaze into the sun, I see her smiling face. I felt the wind carelessly touch my cheek, I knew she was with me. ”Mom, Happy Birthday, I love you, I promise you, I always will.”

sad poetry
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About the Creator

Victoria Hartley

Hello! My Name is Victoria, I am 19 years old and have an extreme love and passion for writing. I strive emotion throughout my writing. I push for a sense of poetry through my pieces to create movement and power. I hope you enjoy. x

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