Arts and Entertainment > Angel in the Fountain
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Article rating : 0.00, 0 votes. Author : Linda Doty
It was winter and gone were the rows of cheery colored
annuals and sweet smelling rose’s that caressed our
senses during the warm summer days. The freshly mowed
green lawns that held us in it’s cool soothing embrace were
now covered with snow.
We had come back. To the botanical garden in the State
Park, hoping to be comforted again. All we found was
endless snow, cold and white, like a blank canvas that
some artist had abandoned, void of all feelings.
I was numb, as I carried my little girl, now so frail and brittle,
like the branches that hung from the frozen winter trees. She
seemed like she could snap, so thin, so ill. How did our
lives become so tragic I thought. It seemed like only
yesterday she was running in this garden, every flower
bowed to her beauty and innocence, so golden, so full of
life.
The sun peeked out from behind a cloud and shone on the
stone alcove with the slate bench. It looked so protected
from the cold winter day, so inviting, I bundled her to me and
walked over to it and sat down with her upon my lap. A
moment of reprieve. A brief feeling of peace, as the warm
sun kissed our weary faces.
A young mother and her dying daughter sitting together
cherishing time. We have made so many visits to this
beautiful spot. In every season it has comforted us.
“I love this place,” said a weak little voice from under the
warm wooly blanket.
“We have many good memories in this garden,” I answered.
“Why you took your first steps over there, by the rose hedge,
for Daddy and me.”
“I like the fountain the best Mommy,” she whispered to me
with her sweet little voice. I looked over at the fountain, just a
few feet away, surrounded by a circular slate path. It was a
large ornate round stone fountain very old. It had been
imported from Italy by the Architects who designed the
garden many years ago. I stood up and carried my daughter
over to the fountain. We walked around it admiring it’s
design once again. Carved at the back base was a bouquet
of flowers and vegetables a tribute to the harvest. As we
circled around to the front their was the face of a cherub,
chubby and angelic with masses of curls upon it’s head. I
had seen this angel’s face more times than I cared to
remember. The sun was shining directly on its curls, they
seemed to glow. I felt like I was seeing the sculpure for the
first time. Jennifer reached out her withered little hand and
caressed the face. “This is your angel Mommy,” she said. I
felt a lump grow in my throat. I had to fight back the tears.
“Now you know you will always be my angel,” I replied.
“Yes I know that,” answered her little voice, “But this will be
your angel.” She was very determined as she looked at me
with those big blue eyes filled with love and understanding
beyond her four years. We hugged and for a moment there
was only pure happiness.
I came back to the garden in the spring with my husband
after she passed away. spring is a powerful tonic for those
that mourn. It soothes the soul and helps for awhile, to ease
the pain of loss.
Time passed, seasons came and went and God gave me
another child, a son. In early spring when he was just two
and there was still a touch of winter in the air I bought him
back to the botanical garden. The snow drops and daffodils
were beginning to make a show.
I sat down on the slate bench once again. He did not want to
stay on my lap he was a very energetic and curious little lad.
He was always exploring. always moving. I watched him as
he ran around the garden. He was so different from her. He
was my little son and yet I felt I was still grieving to deeply for
my daughter. I wished I could be more free, to enjoy my son.
I was struggling with it when I heard him call out to me. I
looked up but I did not see him. I knew he had called from
the direction of the fountain. I rose and walked over to it.
Suddenly, up he popped from the inside of the empty
fountain, laughing as he placed his chubby little hands
around my neck . I laughed out loud at his sense of humor,
climbing up and hiding from me and surprising me like that.
I looked at him in a new light, as he leaned over the base of
the fountain smiling at me. He was directly over the cherub’s
head with the mass of curls. I was stunned for a second
because I realized, in amazement, that he looked exactly like
the angel’s face carved into the fountain. The same chubby
face and mass of curls popped up again laughing and flew
into my arms. I remembered my daughter’s words. “This is
your angel Mommy.” I hugged my son and knew for certain
that a small miracle had taken place. I felt a lightness and
peace come upon me that I had not felt for some time.
Now I understood what my daughter was telling me on that
day so long ago. I knew then that I would no longer grieve so
deeply for her. I whispered, “thank you Jennifer,” as I took my
son’s hand and together we walked across the garden into
spring’s bright season of hope.
Linda Doty is a published author of children's books. Her
picture book, In Search of the Robin, is a true adventure she
had with her sons after a long cold winter. Her chapter
book, "The Christmas Doll," is the new Christmas classic.
http://www.headintheclouds.cjb.net
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