Ashley, overcome with sadness and fatigue, returns home after burying her eight-year-old daughter Lily. However, something surprising is waiting for her in her backyard, dragging her out of her numbness and making her face a mystery she never could have imagined.
Despite my belief that I was prepared to say goodbye, I wasn’t. Perhaps it was for Lily, since they said it would be calm in the end. However, the pain I experienced was more profound than I could have ever imagined. The loss of my beautiful baby left me unsure of how to cope with a world without her.
We laid her to rest one week ago today. Her final days were a haze of hospital beds, hushed prayers, and the slow, devastating loss of her laughter. We buried her today, but it didn’t seem real. I was a shadow of myself as I went through the funeral. Family and friends arrived, my tears blurring their faces.
“Ashley, I’m so sorry,” Aunt Ruth exclaimed as she embraced me. She smelled too strongly of perfume. I refused to be hugged. Lily was all I wanted.
Also, “She was such a light,” someone else said. Despite my inability to hear them, I nodded.
I was only able to recall Lily’s chuckle. Her tiny laugh has the power to fill a room. I wouldn’t hear it again. I was crushed more than anything by that concept. I wanted to shout, but my voice was silent.
As people began to leave with condolences, I continued to look at the empty chair where Lily should have been. I felt like I was dragging myself through muck, and my thoughts kept returning to her last days.
I heard someone say, “Let me know if you need anything,” as I was leaving the cemetery. I gave a nod but said nothing. Can anyone do anything?
It was quiet on the way home. Music somehow felt improper, so I was unable to switch on the radio. I only desired silence. When you’re grieving, you can pretend that everything stopped.
I had no idea how I got to the driveway when I pulled in. I tried to muster the strength to go into the home by sitting in the car for a minute and starring at it. I didn’t want to look into that blank room. Not without her.
But before I could escape, I was halted by something.
A tent was there in the backyard.
An enormous, multicolored tent. like those you see at a circus. Yellow and red strips, with tiny flags flying at the top. It was nonsensical. I felt my heart leap into my throat.
“What… is that?” To myself, I muttered.
I rubbed and blinked. I might have had hallucinations. Grief is a curious thing, isn’t it? I was worn out and emotionally spent. No, however, the tent remained. Bright, bold, and out of place. In an otherwise black-and-white environment, it was like a burst of color.
With legs that felt like they would buckle at any moment, I gingerly got out of the car. I mean, who would set up a tent in my yard? And on this day, anyway? I had so many questions that my brain was spinning. Was this a practical joke? Or had I just gone crazy?
I approached, each step becoming more strident. On top of the tent, the vibrant flags were rustling in the increasing wind. My heart was thumping so hard that I was afraid it may explode.
With my fists clenched, I mumbled, “This can’t be real,”
It was real, though. I could see the details as I drew nearer, like the fabric’s stitching and the wooden stakes that held it in place. My head was racing. Nobody left a letter, and there was no indication of who left it or why.
I trembled when I reached out and touched the tent flap. It felt real, solid. It made my stomach turn. I needed to know what was inside, but I didn’t want to open it.
I took a deep breath and grasped the flap’s edge, pulling it open.
Slowly, with my heart pounding and my breath shallow, I opened it. Something was wrapped in a bundle in the center of the room. I was momentarily unable to make sense of it. It was little, motionless, and covered with a blanket. The torrent of memories hit me all at once, and I was unable to stop it as my stomach wrenched.
In the hospital bed, Lily was lying. Very pale. So delicate. Both the machines and the tubes. She hardly moved during those final days, and I recall her small body being engulfed by the blankets. The weight of it all nearly caused my knees to give out.
“No,” I muttered in a shaky voice. “No, not again…”
I stepped forward, trembling all over. I felt as though the universe was making fun of me, and the scene before me was just another cruel joke. Why this day? Why at this time?
And then the bundle shifted.
I froze in place, gasping. I could hear the pounding of my heart in my ears. I was momentarily unsure of what to do. I kept thinking about the worst, bracing myself for further suffering.
A tiny head then appeared from beneath the cover. The smooth, golden fur of a little Labrador puppy is like sunlight. It had a pink bow around its neck and its huge, inquisitive eyes looked up at me. Breathing became difficult for me. Completely overwhelmed, I gazed.
“What… what are you doing here?” I spoke in a crackly whisper.
Wriggling out of the duvet, the dog lurched toward me, its tiny tail bobbing. It was so innocent and full of life, a far cry from the grief that had taken up so much of my time. Still in shock, I bent down gently and reached for the velvety fur. When my fingers touched the puppy’s warm, living coat, they shook.
I felt tears in my eyes. “What’s this puppy doing here? Who was responsible for this? With the misunderstanding mingling with the deep melancholy I had been carrying all day, my voice broke.
While petting the puppy, my attention was diverted by an envelope concealed beneath the blanket. It made my heart skip a beat. My hands trembled as I lifted it up and gazed at it for a while. The front had the same handwriting. When I realized it, my breath caught. Lily’s handwriting. It was messy, but it was hers.
My eyes were clouded by tears as I cautiously opened the envelope. It contained a brief, straightforward note. I read the words with trembling hands.
Greetings, Mommy
I am aware that you are depressed since I had to go to paradise. To make you smile again, though, I wanted to leave you something. When you’re missing me, you’ll have someone to cuddle with, therefore I requested Daddy to get you a puppy. She’s called Daisy, and she enjoys playing! Please look after her for me. From above, I will always be with you. I adore you very lot.
“Love, Lily.”
I fell to my knees and held the note close to my chest. I was unable to control the waves of tears that came. More so than at the funeral, I started crying. Harder than I’d felt since I realized I was losing her.
“Lily…” My voice was hardly audible as I sobbed.
My darling little baby had thought about me even in her last days. She understood. She was aware of how much I would suffer and miss her. Additionally, she made sure I wouldn’t be left alone. a puppy. A fresh life to nurture and cherish.
I kept Daisy close to me, feeling rooted in the present by the warmth of her tiny body. Lily was still there, in my mind. Her final gift to me was the tent and the pet. A reminder that although Mom was no longer with me, her love will always be there.
The tent no longer felt so weird. It was a site where I was able to reconnect with Lily and locate Daisy.
In the days that followed, Daisy turned into my shadow. She scrambled after me, her little paws thumping on the ground as she followed me everywhere. I was initially unsure about what to do. My heart was so broken that I couldn’t possibly take care of this puppy.
Daisy, though, didn’t give me many options. When I was lying on the couch, she would lick my hand and nuzzle into my side until I could grin through my tears. Full of vitality and happiness, she would dance around with her tiny pink bow, reminding me of the brightness Lily used to bring.
I would sit with my coffee and Daisy at my feet every morning, thinking about Lily. She would be gazing over me, her grin still beaming brightly. And each time Daisy cuddled up in my lap, I could feel Lily’s love enveloping me.
Daisy wasn’t an alternative. My Lily could never be replaced. She was, nonetheless, a part of her. A vibrant, live reminder of the love that Lily left behind. The burden on my chest gradually, day by day, decreased little.
I was able to emerge from my fog by taking care of Daisy. To feed her and play with her, I had to get up. Just as Lily had anticipated my desire for her, she needed me.
I had one more gift from Lily: a motivation to keep going. Furthermore, I realized that I was no longer alone in my grief, even if the loss of her would never completely go away.
