Wasn't Worth the Wait

Hmmm....

Oh! Wait... hm.

Daisy continued to ponder at the blank, white sheet in front of her. What if… what if the female protagonist was an outcast in a world where everyone wanted to be as 2 dimensional as possible, but she liked to be 3D! What if she kept a dark secret that was leaked onto the outerweb like, well, perhaps, she had a ball pit in her closet because she liked the scandalous rounded curves! Sure, it wasn’t a very ominously hidden truth, but it would do the job of creating a fun loving character who wished to express herself in odd, but interesting ways. Oh! And--

Daisy began to scribble down the funny little tale she had begun to pull from the cobwebs of her creative mind. She spent weeks on this new project of hers, determined to prove to her old professors and friends that hers was a gift to be shared with the literary world!

The night passed swiftly as Daisy continued to sit at her escritoire writing into existence a world waiting for the eyes of other reading fanatics. Readers who would feel the same inspiration Daisy had felt fester in her chest time and again.

“It’s not too late, It’s not too late. It is NOT too late,”

Even though it was getting rather late, and the sun’s first rays were beginning to pierce into the small, single apartment that housed the artist in the makings.

Words spilled from out of the weathered depths of her soul, out of a fragmented heart and a mind of rubble. Her knobbly fingers danced across the keys with a grace reminiscent of younger days, days in which Daisy had spent at the beck and call of her former job. You see, this newly discovered author was a woman of old age. Living on borrowed time, they said, when they watched her walk stiffly down the streets on her evening strolls.

Daisy didn’t have much time left to finish her book, and time was quickly becoming a luxury only the young could afford.

Not much time, Not. much. time.

Much too late…

NOT too late.

Like the call of a mother to bed, Daisy felt the strain of her eyes skittering over the poorly scribed letters and words. Her spine bent over, like a tree in high winds, from the hours of concentration over her creation. And then there was that creeping doubt in her mind again, creeping and crawling into her joyous state of scrawl, warning her that she was already too old to write anything to ever be touched by the wandering gaze of a bookworm. Frustration welled up from her frail frame, gushing and stirring itself into a splash of jealousy. A twisted sprout which spat at the youngsters who dashed across the city taking up job after job; this new generation was one that would quit sooner than waste their efforts working a monotonous day! Why hadn’t she done what she wanted? Daisy bared down her scant tears and relaxed her fisted hands; decades of work had taught her to control the emotions that threatened to spring themselves on her. Though she may look fragile and gray, Daisy had a persevering strength and patience in her like that of every adult responsible for the care of a child. Retirement was a treat; society had let her go thinking she no longer could contribute to the workforce, but instead, Daisy was rather enjoying the indulgent opportunity to pursue whatever she desired. She dashed away the ugly cynicisms of her past self and dove straight back into her writing frenzy. There was much to be done and she would be the one to finally do what she aspired to.

3 months later

Heavens, there’s never been a time she felt so alive! Like a giddy girl skipping down a dirt trodden path, Daisy lept to collect all the papers on which kept a story completed and ready to be shared. It had been quite some time since she last felt this euphoria; her face was in a permanent state of satisfaction and accomplishment. The sun was picking up its pace having journeyed yonder the bridges of mountains to the east, and sleep lulled Daisy to sit at her bedside. She thought about the time, much too long spent on surviving every mundane day at work. While she felt regret having spent most of her life in employment, she basked undeterred in her pleasure at finishing the story that had taken her a lifetime to build. Shattered hopes reached to mend the snapped heartstrings of long ago; Daisy let her body fall onto the sheets and sluggishly pulled the blankets to her chest. The morning was blending to midafternoon and Daisy was going to sleep her fill this time. Like a soul unfurling from a cowered space in the dark, this marked the beginning of something great. She smiled to herself, and calmed her fluttering heart; I did it she thought as she drifted into dreams of journeys she had longed to take in her youth. And maybe she would, just not right now; right now, she lived these adventures in her dreams, like before.

On June the 17th, Daisy Galan, named after the flower of innocence, died of natural causes at age 93 due to a failing heart. Daisy worked for 70 years at the local Carin and Belle Preschool helping nurture and inspire the imagination of the neighborhood children. She never married and has no family left to leave behind, however, her numerous friends are torn at her departure. In the wake of her passing, several of her despondent neighbors have discovered a finished manuscript of a short piece Ms. Galan has left behind. The piece features a girl of wonder and dreams, and while we may never know the second half of her story, Ms. Galan has left us a fascinating tale to mull over in the times that we will profoundly miss her.

Friends of Daisy are invited to the services being held in the following week at the Krasse Memories Mortuary.

Private condolences to: Fellow residents of Apple Street.

KRASSE FUNERAL HOME SERVICES