The Blossoming Lotus

Sitting on the frozen ground at the cemetery, I placed a tiny mailman on a grave. I thought back to earlier that day. 

“Mom, I need new sneakers. While we’re here..” My sister said, her voice trailing off as she realized no one was listening.

Although usually the store is bustling with people, on that day it remained quiet. My sister’s voice carried across the aisles, and interrupted my own train of thought.

My mom looked up from a potted plant. Her eyes were glazed over, a confusion of sorts, as she struggled to remember exactly where she was.

“He would like to have a flower, don’t you think?” She asked, more to herself than to my sister and I. She read the tag, “A blossoming lotus.”

I shrugged and looked down at my feet. If he wanted a blossoming lotus, he should have asked for one. My eyes trailed from the flower to a sparkling row of Christmas decor. I traveled down the aisle and stopped in front of a miniature town. Children pulled their friends in sleds across a frozen landscape of stores, carolers, and other townsmen; all caught in one moment.

A small mailman caught my eye. His red cheeks and nose indicated chilly air, but if he was cold, his smile gave away nothing. There he stood, proud as could be, with letters to be delivered. I picked up his small body, large in proportion to the other small bodies, and pulled him away from his town. I could almost hear the tiny cries of anguish. Who will deliver our mail now?

I felt a slight tug on my shoulder.

“Do you think Dad likes his lotus?” She asked, glancing back at the grave. The flower stood swaying in the wind beside a grave that was not yet marked as Steve.

“I think the lotus likes dad,” I said, trying to make her laugh. She was preoccupied. A hand much like my own reached out and pointed to the sky.

“Look at the sun,” She said. Her eyes gleamed as she continued, “Do you see the way it pokes through the clouds? Like it’s saying hello?”

I turned to observe the sun but was instead captivated by the youth on my sister’s face. Her eyes were wide, like my own, only innocent and untouched by horrific sights.

“Well, let’s ask him,” I proposed, “Dad, do you like your lotus?”

The sun sparkled. My sister’s eyes twinkled. I smiled.