The Orchid

Hi dad,

I want to start by apologizing for not writing any sooner. But believe me, you will soon understand why. How are things lately? I recently drove by a flower shop and saw some beautiful poppies, they were such a vibrant shade of red. Then I remembered they are grandma’s favorites, how is she doing? Send her a hug for me. Grandma always has that unique scent, you know the one, that sweet aroma of pears mixed with the freshness of recently baked cookies. I could have sworn I felt it while I was walking down the park the other day, I even had to turn around to make sure she didn’t decide to take a trip to see me.

You want to hear something funny dad? I have been meaning to write for the longest time, but I could never bring myself to do it. It is as if the more I thought about it, the more my hands froze. And I came up with words in my head, some sentences I could put in here to make sense of what I am trying to convey, but nothing ever felt quite right. Then I had a dream about you, and I knew I had no excuse to not just write something. Anything at all. So forgive myself for any incoherence this letter may present. However nonsensical it may seem, at least it’s from the heart.

I dreamed that we were back in my childhood house. You surely remember that one very well. The backyard framed by the bushes, the oranges that fell down from the trees filling the entire house with a citric scent, the comically large living room that barely hosted any gatherings. And I complained about it so much, but nevertheless you did too. In my dreams you were there with me, but with worry in your eyes. You said you were afraid of falling asleep because you wanted to take care of the house. To protect it. And without a doubt, that is what you always did.

Remember the time you fell asleep with a cigarette on your hand? Eventually the sofa caught on fire, and there was smoke in the entire house. I grasped your leg tightly, as orchids do with trees in the wild. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but I could not bring myself to worry for very long. Attaching myself to you made me feel as if nothing could harm me, as if the entire house could catch fire but somehow we would walk thru it without a single burn on our body.

Remember the last time I went to visit you? You were singing opera when I arrived, which was your way of letting everybody know you were happy. You were a terrible singer, but it never mattered. So you saw me, hugged me and said how beautiful I looked. I responded “I know” and we laughed about it. We talked about the books we were reading, and I could see how proud you were of me every time I talked about University fondly. “You are smart” you said with a serious face “I raised you, you know?” and I responded with a smile. You always talked about raising me as if that was your greatest accomplishment. Maybe it is?

I think that all we need in life is someone who makes us feel invincible. And truly, there was nothing in this world you thought I couldn’t do. You not only made me feel like I mattered, but that I actually had a reason for existing, that I could do great things in spite of it all. I try to hold on to that as best as I can nowadays, but it has been getting more difficult.

When I moved out I felt the world opened up all around me, and I felt myself blossom within. I held back tears of joy living a life of my own, made plans for the future, went out to enjoy life a little. I adored all the aspects of it, until I did not. And recently I have this pain in my head constantly, a sharpness that irradiates from my neck to the entirety of my body until I can no longer move. I look at the wall, imagining when will I be hungry again even though I have not eaten for twenty hours.

Dad you were so mesmerized by life, and it was mesmerized by you in every conceivable way. You lived in ways that most people would not even dare to imagine, and you never lost track of wanting to see another day, so why is this happening to me? Why can’t I live life? Why am I paralyzed by the things that I am unable to do? Why, after every little thing that you taught me, do I feel like growing up is the worst thing I have ever done?

And I play back every sentence you have ever said to me, hoping that somehow it will click in my mind. When you talked to me I felt alive, I felt intelligent, I felt beautiful, I felt like I mattered, so why don’t I feel that anymore? This is not how I thought that being alone would feel like. I tell myself everything you said must have been true, but how in the hell do I actually feel it? You always knew the answer for everything, and I have been excruciating over this because I didn’t want to ask for help, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix it, how to fix me. I have been way too afraid of admitting any of this to you, to admit that I no longer feel like I can do anything.

But tell me you will be here? Just like in my dreams, when you said you wanted to protect our house, can you come over and also tell me this? I know I feel like I wasted all of me, all that I could do and all I could be. But please, tell me at least you will be here? I am lost dad, please come over, I need you here.

.

Jackie did not sign her letter, nor did she put a date in it. When she was done she took a look at it, but couldn’t actually read it. She just stared at the pages for a few minutes, and when one of her tears actually fell down on the pages she figured it was time to fold it. She carefully placed the pieces of paper on a red envelope, wiping her face with the leftover paper. It was a bright sunny day, and Jackie was enthralled to see the tone of that blue coloring the sky. She put the letter on the tombstone, holding it down with an orchid. Then, she left.