The Young Woman With the Flowers

Lately I’ve been thinking about her,

About the young woman with the Flowers who was shocked into reality.

I’ve been thinking about what I would do if I could go visit her.

How I would go to where they were keeping her,

Sit right next to her and lay her head on my lap and

Hold her in an embrace to keep her together.

I imagine us sitting on a porch, swinging.

I imagine the birds singing outside flying about over our heads to a nearby nest.

In actuality, we would be enclosed in four white walls

With sanitized air and the hum of a heater.

I’ve been thinking about what I would say

As I held her swaying back and forth,

Scraping her hair off of her face.

Much needed peace.

A much needed rest.

Sitting there, I would thank her for letting me be a part of her journey,

For letting me sit next to her and embrace her tightly.

I would commend her for her courage that looks like weakness at the time.

The courage to recognize one’s limits before it’s too late.

I would tell her that it’s okay to not be okay, that many people never fully understand how not okay they are until way later in life.

I would embrace her tighter, and reassure her that she’s in good hands.

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We would sit there for a while, just like that,

Me swaying back and forth with her in my arms.

Two sisters journeying together.

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Sitting there next to her I would know that this week would change her life.

That from this experience she would blossom and grow, slowly but surely.

That the next year of her life would be a story of redemptive love

And of the deep darkness of depression in the same breath.

I may whisper this to her, letting her know that all will be well.

But I would know that many have said this to her before.

It has fallen on deaf ears.

When all is not well for so long, even if it’s the truth, is hard to believe.

This I would know.

I would want to tell her about the upcoming year of her life,

How she’s going to do a lot of self-discovery and analysis.

I would assure her that it’s going to be difficult but worth it

And that loneliness will come at times.

I would tell her to continue pursuing Truth.

(She doesn’t know this yet, but that’s what got her here in the first place.)

I would disclose to her that pursuing Truth is the single most important journey a person can make.

I would remind her that change is painful, and she will persevere through change time and time again,

But I would quickly confess to her that this perseverance will not be of her own strength.

I would state to her that she is going to live the next year of her life imperfectly

And that this will be beautiful, and normal.

A nurse would come by and tell me that visiting hours were over,

And I would have to say my goodbyes.

“Goodbye, Amber,” I would say.

She may panic at this point, feeling like a burden to me, but I would quickly assure her.

I would communicate that tomorrow I will come back and be with her.

That I want her to see love and affirm her in her perceived failures.

That I want to let her cry and weep without judgment and

Let her speak whatever is on her mind without apology.

I would tell her that I will come back tomorrow and care for her.

I’ll be quiet if needed.

Talk if needed.

Listen if needed.

She would nod her head and stare at the ground, not believing my words as they would seem to good to be true.

I would give her a hug, stand up, and walk down the barren hallway, leaving behind me the young woman with the Flowers.