Goodnight, Little Princess

Melody first saw the man by his silhouette in front of the window. He had nice hair. It reminded her a bit of an old Ken doll's hair, the one her mom had shown her once at a thrift store, but the man's hair was nicer and dark brown, like Easter chocolate.

He smiled nice, too. His eyes were sky-blue and filled with kindness. He sat up on the window seat and held his hands out to her, his smile warm and inviting. Melody stepped forward and took his hands. They were warm where hers were cold.

"Hello, Little Princess," he greeted her. It made her smile, which made him laugh.

"How did you get in here?" she asked.

"Magic," he whispered back, his eyes twinkling with merriment. "Are you ready to go?"

Melody looked over her shoulder, towards the hospital bed against the wall. Mommy and Daddy looked very sad but somehow she knew they would be okay. Her belly bump had her little brother in it, she saw now.

She saw herself in the bed, her flesh wasted away. Cancer was never kind, that's what she'd hear the doctors say when they thought she was resting. Melody looked to the man and smiled sadly but nodded her head.

He kissed her small fingers. His lips were warm too.

"Goodnight, Little Princess," she heard Daddy whisper behind her.

"It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?" the man asked, looking happy when she nodded. "Then let's go, Little Princess."

He glowed, bright as the sun, and then they were gone from the hospital and all there was, was joy.

Racing Thoughts

She ran across the grasslands, her feet carrying her across the land. The earth was just weakening,  the sun slowly spreading its heat across the plain. The ground felt cold beneath her bare feet, her toes digging into the dirt to sprint her forward as she picked up speed. She sped up as if to outrace her own thoughts, leaving them and their burdens behind.

She ran like the wind, feeling her body cut through air, feeling it trail like chilled fingers across her skin. She pulled it into her lungs, using it to keep herself going, her chest rising and falling. She gave thanks to the spirits that what they gave helped her to be alive.

She ran, blood pumping, her heart thumping against her ribs, the heat rising in her body from her race across the grasslands. The sun continued its ascent, warming the land and bringing lives out of their slumber with its heat, it's distant fire. This was also a gift of the spirits, this fire of life and light. Her skin glistened with dampness, her own body heat rising steadily.

She ran to the edge of her world, until the earth gave way to the sea, and she ran into its welcoming arms before plunging head-on into its embrace, feeling the water surround her and steal her breath. She surfaced in an explosion of spray, whipping her head back to clear her hair from her face, crying out in exultation as her muscles tensed from the change in their surrounding.

Cleansed and refreshed, she swam back to shore, walking back to camp, letting the sun warm her body and dry the water off her skin.

Goodbye

I feel the warmth of her love around me. She's hundreds of miles away but I feel so near to her. Every breath I take carries the faintest whiff of a memory. Her old house, always kept clean. The scent of the hot chocolate she would make for me when I visited after school. I've never been able to find the same flavour since my childhood.

Always, always, there's the memory of her linen closet. It's mentioned on those questionnaires that her grandchildren fill out asking what their favourite scent is. I still don't know what she used to do to make it smell so wonderful.

I feel comforted feeling her nearby, like she's taking care of me as we all brace ourselves to let her go. All that's missing is her famous soup, served in a bowl made of clear, brown glass. No one can resist it and I'd do anything to have some right now.

She's 97, this woman who means so much to so many people. She has the name of two saints and a heart as bright as a diamond but as gentle and loving as only a good mother can be.

Her voice once warbled as happily as a song bird though she watches more and speaks less these days but she's still our mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. We have such memories of her that her voice and her laugh still echo in our hearts.

She has loved so deeply that her husband's portrait remained by her bedside every single day since his loss. When I think of what a strong woman means to me, her strength and determination shine through. She raised nine children and I lack the words to express the kind of wondrous people my aunts, uncles and mother are.

And now she's fading, her light dimming slowly and softly like a star near its end. I am surrounded by love for her and from her, despite being far away. She is with us, almost visible when I close my eyes.

This is my way of saying goodbye.