Sending Flowers To Heaven

Among the first thoughts I had as the flowers began to arrive at the door was, “I’m going to have to watch them die.”  It saddened me.  As the days and weeks have passed, I’ve watched as each bouquet and arrangement has slowly wilted, shriveled, the life seeping from them as it did from my little Angel’s body.  I held her hand, willing the heat from my body to warm her again, to stop the process, to reverse it.

I looked around the room wondering if she was looking down from one of the corners the way I’ve read about in stories of near death experiences.  I wondered if she understood what happened.  I wondered if she was confused the way I’ve seen “earthbound spirits” become on television when they don’t know their bodies have died.  I wondered if she was crying with us because we couldn’t hear her or see her right there next to us.  I wondered if she knew and understood everything because she had loving guides of light explaining it to her and comforting her where I couldn’t any more.  Or, did she simply remember everything as it was before she came to be my little girl on earth?

Over the course of the first week, I felt a gradual shift in the way of things.  I felt a movement in the nature of our relationship as mother and daughter.  I felt I was being discharged from my duties as her mother.  It was an honorable discharge… of the highest possible honor, but I could feel that our roles were no longer what they had been.  The love has intensified and now it’s no longer my responsibility to make sure she’s okay.  There is a sense that she is watching over me, us… all who love and miss her.  Not a reversal of roles, more of a balancing of them or an equalizing.  Neither of those words encompass the concept, but I felt this…sense… quite profoundly at her memorial celebration; a comforting, sense of some minute and fleeting understanding of a bigger picture in a grander scheme of things.

When my grandmother passed away, I was nine years old.  It was the worst possible thing I could have imagined at that time and it was the first time the light went out of my world.  The sun shone differently.  It had dimmed.  I remember my grandfather telling me that he had seen her in a dream and that she was very happy.  She was excited to tell him about the flowers.  He said she’d told him that she could *hear* the flowers!  Ever since then, I have tried to listen to them.  I’ve gotten so close to them that I can see they actually sparkle, even in this realm.  My human ears can’t hear them but as beautiful as they are and as much as humans love them, I believe it’s true.  I also like to believe that as they die their essence also returns to the purity of their source.

Yesterday, I gently placed the last bouquet of passing flowers with the others in my garden.  I imagine them slowly moving from this realm into the realm where my Dannica is.  I see her surrounded by all the beautiful flowers popping up around her, gifts from her loved ones on earth; gifts that will live forever and sparkle brightly, and sing to her.  My heart looks forward to spring when I can continue this communication with her in my garden.  Maybe she’ll send me messages there, as I plant flowers to send to her in heaven when the weather again turns cold and the days again turn dark here on earth.


4 thoughts on “Sending Flowers To Heaven

  1. I read this post a while ago, and have returned to it several times. The way you describe the shift in your relationship with your daughter is so incredibly beautiful, your openness and strength in the face of your loss shines through your writing. I often find it difficult to comment on other people’s losses, and even to reply to comments on my own blog, but I always read your posts, and responses, I think about your loss, I feel a connection to you…through this virtual world. Be well, my blog “sister” 🙂 – Katja.

    • Thank you. I find it takes so much energy sometimes to start writing. I know when I sit down here I’ll cry again and I’ll feel everything again so acutely. I make myself do it though because I know the only way through this is *through* this! Once I’m done, though, it is difficult to comment on other posts or reply when I feel like I need to run screaming somewhere instead. I feel a connection to you, also and I love to read your writing as well. I didn’t expect anyone to read what I wrote but I’m deeply touched that they are and that kind, compassionate people are writing responses. I cherish every one of them. It is ultimately comforting knowing others really do understand.

      Honored to be your blog “sister” 🙂 – Melissa

  2. What you have written is so moving – I have tears in my eyes. I am so sorry for the loss of your beautiful daughter. I especially related to the flowers. I am a songwriter and wrote a line of lyrics for one of my songs “and the flowers have all died. . .” to express that similar feeling. I couldn’t bear to see the flowers dying. It has been many years for me since my son died. I did not write about my grief until a few years ago. Writing helped me very much. I am so sorry for the black hole you have entered and do believe in healing. You are not avoiding grief – by facing it head on with your writing, I am hopeful it will ease gently for you. So many tears. . .

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s