The Withering Flower

She can remember the days when daddy would crack jokes, spend time, make memories. He was the one she went to for help and advice. It wasn’t merely a false hope when she was a little girl – and his promises felt real. But these promises were only made up of his stubborn lies. In his lies, these promises have loved – have protected – have guided her.  Spending time with him wasn’t a burden, but more of a blessing to count. That empty place in this little girl’s heart was filled with this hero. Their relationship grew like a flower in the peak of spring but as years passed, petals fell and withered away with the wind.

            The hero that she set up in her mind and the opinions she had of him quickly changed –and not for the better. She began wondering when the next argument would arise.  He used to be the one she clung to, hanging on his every word; now, that was the complete opposite of her feelings now. Nothing she did was right; adequate; good enough for him. She began to wonder if she would ever be good enough for her daddy.

Tension between them built up like gasoline just waiting for a match. Beginning her teen years now – and with summer break right around the corner – her dad decided to take a road trip. Just the two of them. She wondered if anything could go right. Her old hero; turning down her dreams, becoming selfish, disapproving of everything she did - stuck with him, nowhere to hide?

The uncomfortable silence in the car seemed to grow louder and louder as each moment dragged on and she began to feel like there was no escape from the looming tension in the air. Each word spoken sounded like metal being ripped in half. The few words spoke, rolled off the tongue with piercing anger and a desperate calling for peace. Too much had happened, though. Too many put-downs and ridiculing, sarcastic comments had been exchanged for peace to lie between them. Miles and miles still to travel in their journey, with nothing but a dead end ahead.

DARKNESS.

She screamed. Agony enveloped her body as she attempted to move. She could feel the fear amidst the smoke. She could taste the blood running down her face. She could hear the ringing sound of the sirens raged through her ears. Yelling from far off replaced the silence and in an instant, men surrounded her. As she was lifted, the cold, brisk air pierced through her clothing. She began to shake violently now – more men rushed to her side. Through the corner of her eye she could see her old hero lay motionless. A man beat on his chest like a drum and the echo of each strike sounded like the pound of a heartbeat. 

Though her mind drifted off into unconscious paradise, she could taste the salt from her tears bringing her back to reality. She delighted, she trembled, she crumbled when she recognized the broken body.  Emptiness flooded her soul. She felt day by day, more scared, more withdrawn, more guilty for the outcome of daddy. 

Neither the guilt of her conscious, nor the grief that overwhelmed her heart could ever be replaced by the old memories she could still remember. Her daddy might have been more stubborn than an angry bull, but he possessed the forgiveness and grace of a father. Not only the atrocious memory that lie deep within her soul, but also the anger – diminished as compassion swept over her and she realized that it took more effort to hate than to love.


Authors Note: This story was based off of emotions I know and have experienced. In many parts, it relates to my personal life which was one of the great struggles in writing this piece. To start, I wasn't sure if I really wanted to open up but once I began to write, I realized that this story was a great place to kind of spill myself into. By the end, I hope that you understand a little more about me and also that you may see that in great struggle, there is still a plan for you and in that, you can have hope.