The Wilting Flower

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One of my beautiful, wonderful, thoughtful cousins sent flowers to my husband and I on Marc’s birthday. I know how to take care of flowers. But, much like the flowers we received immediately following Marc’s death, I have neglected these.

Things are different now.

The last time, I neglected the flowers on purpose. I wanted to slowly watch them die. They were beautiful, as my life had been with my smiling boy. They were wilting and looking more and more brown, more and more dead with every day that passed. They looked how I felt. I was dying more every day. It was fitting, the day that I threw those flowers away. They were shriveled. Their leaves and petals had fallen off. They had lost their beauty just like me. I hated them and I was happy they were dead. The pain was still so fresh and raw.

Things are different now.

The neglect of these flowers was unintentional. I’ve been so busy trying to stay okay. I’ve been so busy trying not to think about the time of year it is. I forget every other day to water them. The flowers are a reminder of everything. Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s a wonderful thing. It warmed my heart so much that someone thought my baby’s birthday was worth sending flowers. Once again, though, the flowers reflect my current state. I am trying to keep them alive as longs as I can. I’m trying to keep them beautiful as long as I can. They are beautiful, alive, but still wilting. It’s slower this time. My life is beautiful. I have a life growing inside of me. But I am still wilting.

There are days, like today, where I feel gloomy, droopy, and wilted. Days where even the thought of getting up off the couch is just too hard. There are days, like yesterday, where I feel wonderful and I can happily sweep and mop my entire house without a second thought. The days are unpredictable and random. Such is to be expected. I am a wilting flower. I have just enough water to stay alive, to stay beautiful.

 

Watered,

Allie.

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