Standing at the kitchen sink, I stare out the window and robotically rub the soapy plate. My bloodshot eyes spot the treehouse in the old maple, and I’m hit with a flashback of watching Sophia help little Emily up each rickety-rung of the ladder. PLOP. The plate slides through my soapy fingers back into the water as I lean heavily on the counter.
I need to tear that treehouse down, I morosely think, hanging my ten-pound head. That thing is only filled with silent laughter and ghost footsteps now, and I don’t want it here.
Sensing a butterfly touch on my back, I realize Sophia has snuck up on me. My once vibrant and animated thirteen-year-old is so much quieter and withdrawn now. The whole household has dimmed without Emily’s little sparkle, but Sophia buried her childhood completely and jumped straight into an adult.
She gives me a light squeeze, then gently dries my hands. “Mom. I think you should go lay down. I’ll finish up here.”
“Huh? Yeah…a nap sounds nice.” I look at Sophia and, for a moment, I see Emily staring back at me. My heart freezes, the air is sucked from my lungs, and my eyes blur. I grab her in a tight hug, “I love you so much, baby. I don’t think I said that enough. Mama loves you.”
Stroking my hair, Sophia comforts me like a parent should a child. “She knows, Mom. We both do. Now go lay down. I’ll come up when I’m done,” she states, kissing me lightly on the cheek.
I shuffle towards the stairs, struggling to keep my slippers on. Glancing into the living room, I glare at the multicolored arrangements, cheerless reminders of our loss. They clutter every surface, creating a muddled, nauseating scent. I don’t understand why people think sending a stinky bouquet – or bringing over a mystery casserole, for that matter – will help me overcome my loss.
When I get up, if I have energy, I’ll throw out these weeds and clean out the fridge, I silently pledge. I shamble up the stairs, daftly optimistic.
Not sparing a glance at the master bedroom, I walk purposefully down the hall. Slowly opening the walnut door, my eyes lock on the beloved purple walls. Like the day I first showed her the newly painted room, Emily’s ecstatic squeal again reverberates in my ears. My eyes start to fog as I remember how excited she had been for that precise color, Lovely Lady Lilac #0216.
One morning, Emily had marched up to me at breakfast and slammed a magazine clipping down on the table. “I HAVE to have this painted in my room,” she demanded. “Purple is my favorite color and that is my birthday.” Spinning on her tiny feet, she marched out. Emily had decided and decreed, so it shall be done. She has…had that sort of power over us all.
I spy the slate-colored marks along the doorframe – Emily’s height chart. I lightly trail my fingertips over her last birthday marking, four feet. Emily’s beaming face when she saw how much she had grown overwhelms me, and I’m immediately crushed with the feeling there will be no more pencil lines.
Grabbing Emily’s purple elephant, Melee, I sit on her rainbow bedspread, cradling the bedraggled fella. A weak whimper escapes my lips as visions of Emily dragging the poor elephant around the house by his trunk flicker through my head. Running my hand over Melee’s battle-scarred body, I glimpse a map of Emily’s exploits. I want to relive some of her adventures through his mismatched eyes and start with how she ripped off one of Melee’s original beady-black peepers when she was three and ate the little ball.
“Emily cried herself to sleep that night, worried she blinded you,” I whisper to Melee. “I scrambled to find a suitable button replacement before she woke up.”
I rub his stumpy, gnawed off ear and, like Aladdin's lamp, evoke the image of Emily’s tiny, pouty face after she realizes her puppy chewed her prized toy. Outlining the crooked cross-stitching down his back, I’m reminded of her failed attempt to shimmy underneath the fence. “You tried so hard to secretly fix this rip,” I mutter.
I trace the stitches down Melee’s right paw, tenderly kissing each one. “And this tear,” I murmur. “I sewed up when you pulled Melee into the rose bushes, trying to pick roses for Mother’s day.”
Curling myself around my baby’s treasured stuffed animal, I bury my nose in Melee’s head. Inhaling deeply, his once downy, lavender fur – faded after years of washes – smells like Emily right after a bath. Her Petal Perfect shampoo has absorbed into Melee’s hair. The scent finally breaks down my mental barricades. My body shakes as everything I’ve held in for days pours out on Melee’s head.
“Why did our little angel leave us?” I sputter, adding drool droplets to his shower.
The fourth step’s creak drifts through the open door and alerts me that Sophia’s on her way up. Senselessly wanting to look normal, I endeavor to mop my face on the pillow and sit up. Leaning against the headboard mere seconds before she walks in, I unfortunately make the mistake of using Melee to hide the streaks and flush on my cheeks. The floral aroma punches me in the face again, like a playground bully, and incites an unsolicited storm.
“Oh Mom, I miss her too.” Racing over, Sophia enfolds me in her arms, pressing her damp cheek against mine. After a few minutes, she holds me at arm’s length and looks into my puffy eyes. “I had an idea. Why don’t we plant a lilac bush for Emily?” she suggests, gingerly wiping my cheek.
“Can…can we put it ou..tside the kitchen window, so I can watch it grow up?” I blubber, wiping my nose on the back of my hand.
Sophia pulls me close, “I think Emily would like that.”
Author: Katie Yusuf
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