The Gray Lily

The sun glistens off the yellow hue of petals, casting a dark gray shadow. The birds chirp in the distance illuminating the sound I heard the month before my mother’s life was at risk. Unfortunately for her, life went over the edge and she fell of the fence.

My eyes scan the rows and rows of cement stones lined up. Names and dates are carved, never to be buffed out again. Ages range from first born to 80, 90, and 100 years old. I try not to think of how horrific these people's tragedies must have been. I try not to think of how awful they were probably treated when they had a life. But mostly, I try not to think about my own mother’s death.

Her skin was always so dark complected until her last moments on Earth. Then her skin was the shade of snow. It felt almost waxy like covered in desperation and despair. Her eyes used to be a bright, crystal blue, but once she got sick they were nothing but a glazed over circular inanimate object stuck in the face, unable to see the world outside.

I guess now that she's gone I don’t have to think about that anymore. It’s just so hard. Her life was perfect. She had a wonderful husband, a loving daughter, and a cute, ornery dog. Nothing was supposed to change. I didn’t want anything to change. I wanted our life to stay the same.

“Honey, are you doing okay?” I turn to see a man standing behind me. Still the gray, shading of the petals cast on the man’s suit. I realize it’s my father.

“I’m fine,” I say my voice barely trembling.

“I’m having a hard time too. We’ll get through it,” my father says a pause to his voice. “You know those lilies were always her favorite?”

As he says this my eyes glaze over with tears, something I didn't want to do until he brought up her favorite flowers.

“I know. I just can’t get over the fact that she’s gone. She was such a good person”

“Come on. Lets go get some lunch,” my father gently rests his hand on my back. I pull myself to my feet and run my fingers across her name one last time. I let the thought of her slip into my mind one more time. And as I pull my fingers away the shadow of the lily catches my eye. It’s dark, gray, outline reminding of my mother’s days laying on her bed when Dad and I were the only ones who cared enough to try and bring life back into her. Now those days are over; gone forever. It’s like a cake and once those layers are eaten nothing is left except for the remnants of crumbs. Nothing is left of my mother except the lily that portrays a dark, gray shadow on the front of her tombstone.

Author's Note

Please feel free to give advice and comment on what you think.

Reviews

[Jared Payne]

This is so sad! And the flow and material was great. And it was so sad!