Remembered

I seize the long blades of grass while I remember your hands, pale white and cold like ice, and pull the roots out of the ground, one clump at a time. I do not see the garden of sunflowers in front of me, tangled in the breeze and golden in the sun. Instead a ghastly image swims in front of my eyes: I see you unmoving, limp against the white pillows. Not even the wind wafting in through the open bedroom window can tussle your short blonde hair. Everything is so still. All I can think about is that you loved the things that were alive it made you happy when the wind blew about the twirling autumn leafs, brown, cracked and dancing to the rhythm of nature. And when spring came your cheeks would turn red with satisfaction and happiness because everything was alive and moving. So I wondered why you were so silent and tranquil here in this plain, boring, motionless room. I half expected you to frown, like you always did when you had nothing to do. When you couldn’t get up and jump around and run and skip and laugh. But the lips on your icy face stayed in their position. Careless, lifeless, things that did not belong to you.
I closed my eyes tightly, trying to chase away the image of you in an endless sleep. I pushed with all my might, screaming at it internally to go away. But then I realized that I did not want you to leave me again.
So I pushed the image of my dead sister to the corner of my mind, where I could not forget, but could not dwell on any longer today. Slowly I clenched my fingers from the grass, hearing my knuckles crack from the pressure, and then open my teary eyes to the beautiful sunflowers swaying gracefully in the summer breeze. I smile back at them, happy that this is a real smile, wipe my tears away, and remember you like you were. Elated, warm, rosy cheeks, spiky blond hair, smile like an angel’s, bright blue eyes, and long lashes. Alive.