Comfort

Opening the blinds this morning, my eye caught a glimpse of red. It was a lone apple that had fallen, but was caught in mid flight during its decent toward the ground. There it straddled, wedged between two branches, looking like it would have much rather continued falling to join the other apples in my garden. The rest of the tree was barren, and I looked down to the ground searching for the remains of the other apples, only to discover that they were hidden beneath a blanket of snow. This is where they were meant to be. The snow helped in the process of decomposition which was the apples’ duty in providing the soil with added nutrients. I looked back up at the lone apple in the tree. It, too, was covered by a little hat of snow. It was like Mother Nature was compensating for the apple’s change of plans and decided to provide it with a tuque of comfort. A mother’s job, to protect, and so easily fulfilled.



Yesterday was the anniversary of my sister’s death. She was 4 years my elder, and we never really had much in common accept sisterly love. As a matter of fact, we were very different. Because she was a step ahead of me in regards to marriage and children, we could never really relate to one another until I, eventually, caught up to her each time. I was 29 when she passed away, and I had been married for 5 years. We were just thinking about having a child. She already had 3 boys who were 4, 6, and 8 upon her demise. One year after her passing, I gave birth to my first child.

It was then that I really recognized the void my sister’s death had left, but somehow she managed to provide me with the same comfort Mother Nature gave the apple. When my son had colic I would find myself wondering, “What would Emily do?” When my other sister and I sat together visiting with our children, I felt Emily’s presence and I could hear her words of wisdom whispering throughout our conversation. Sometimes at night when I would rock my son to sleep, I would open my eyes and see her smiling with reassurance. She came with me on walks with my son, and sat on the swing beside us in the park. She never criticized me or gave me any advice; she just provided me with the comfort I craved. Just like the snow on top of the apple, she gave me just enough to get through the rough times in order for me to find strength to get to the great times.

When she was sick, and I sat crying for her, she told me to put away any tears for her. She told me that she would be fine, and that I needed to enjoy all that I had and what I had to look forward to. She told me that I would be fine because someone would always be looking out for me. They were just words to me then, but now I know that they were words of comfort from an angel, like the snow hat on the apple.



1956 - 1988