A knock, the sound of an amplified heartbeat on the discolored front door, and the departure of the big brown UPS truck revealed a cardboard box about half the size of dollhouse. Gabby, reached down, trying to pick the unknown package up, discovering that it was heavier than she thought. She ran inside and asked her father, Steven, to carry it inside their petite house.
	Steven placed the package on the small, round, kitchen table and watched Gabby examine it. Her small hands ran over the box searching for information telling where the package came from. Unable to find the origin of the package, she picked up the pair of scissors her father had placed on the table and carefully cut the tape that kept the package closed, like a surgeon making the first incision on a patient. She lifted the panels and gasped. 
      Gabby ran to her room and picked up the framed photograph which held the only photograph she had of her mother, Nancy. She examined it carefully before returning to the kitchen where her father was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting for her.
      “Daddy”, she murmured.
      His eyes met hers and then fell to her small trembling hand which held the framed photograph tightly. He walked towards her and pulled her into him, holding her almost as tightly as she held the photograph. 
      Her suspicions had been confirmed.
      When Steven released Gabby from his firm embrace, Gabby took a deep breath before returning to the package. Enclosed was a flower pot packed with dirt and a small red flower, the same red flower that her mother held in the photograph. Gabby leaned forward, closed her eyes and inhaled the beautiful scent of her mother. Her nostrils were filled with love, clarity, sadness, loneliness, but mostly desire- a longing for the woman in the photograph. 
      Gabby slowly carried the pot to the sink and turned the water on. As the water began to fall freely, a single tear ran down Gabby’s left cheek. Why her? Every girl needs a mother, but someone decided that she didn’t. 
	She placed the flower pot in the center of the table, sat down in front of it and then began to study the flower carefully. There were only five petals. Each appeared to be identical from first glance, but as she scrutinized the flower she began to notice something different about each one. Each petal was perfectly round, with hints of yellows, whites, and pinks overshadowed by the magnificent red. The first petal felt as soft as velvet, almost as soft as the smile her mother had in the photograph. Gabby saw the brightness of her mother’s eyes in the second petal. The thin yellow lines in the center of the petal were as luminous as the sun on a hot summer day. Within the third petal, Gabby saw evidence of life. The different shades of pink and red reminded her of the rosiness in her mother’s face. In the photograph, Nancy’s face held the possessed the perfect amount of blood that brought life to her body - life that Gabby hadn’t witnessed for very long. The fourth petal was a mixture of the four colors, representing the many unanswered questions Gabby had for her mother. Where was she? Was she still alive? Why did she leave her daughter to figure life out on her own? Was Gabby the reason that Nancy was gone? Gabby saw an image of herself in the last petal. In that petal she saw a young girl who possessed the same softness as the woman in the photograph, but a softness that was dimmed by sadness. She saw eyes that had the ability to shine brightly, like Nancy’s, but were covered by the many unanswered questions she had. She saw the inability to truly live her life. What she saw in the last petal was everything she had been missing, a mother.
	Gabby got up from her seat and placed the photograph on the table in front of the red flower before walking away. 
	The next morning when Gabby walked into the kitchen she noticed that the flower seemed to have grown. The length and width of the stem increased, providing the flower with the stability it needed to open further. The beauty of it took Gabby’s breath away. She didn’t understand how something that already possessed so much beauty could blossom into the something even more beautiful – something with everlasting beauty.	 
      Every morning for a week, Gabby saw continuous growth. The blossoming of the flower changed the somberness Gabby had to contentment. The flower eased the pain Gabby felt about her mother. The beauty of the red flower helped Gabby forget the three year old girl who witnessed her mom walking out the front door with only two suitcases in her hand. The red flower allowed Gabby to overlook the cries of the tiny girl that the departing woman ignored. The intoxicating smell of the flower aided Gabby in forgetting the woman, who looked back at the little girl with eyes filled with uncertainty. The red flower let Gabby live without remembering.
      The red flower aided Gabby in opening herself up to the pleasures of life. She was able to smile and laugh without force. She was able to make it through the day without having to look at the photograph of Nancy. She was able to be a girl who didn’t have to deal with not having a mother. It was the arrival of the flower that made it easier for Gabby to live.
      As time passed the growth of the flower halted and seemed to reverse. Gabby failed to notice the decay, however, because she was living life so freely. She notice when the once erect flower started to droop. She didn’t realize the stem that once provided stability to the flower proved to be weaker than the flower that desired rest. The submission of the stem to the flower advanced the decay. The beautiful petals began to give in to the ugly process of wilting. Each petal slowly began to shrivel as if there was nothing else it they could do. The life the colors provided were taken away and replaced with paler shades. The bright red, began to change to faded pink, and then to white, and lastly an old, faded yellow.
      It wasn’t until the first petal fell, that Gabby noticed anything.
      She walked into the kitchen, one morning, and noticed the first petal timidly lying in front of the photograph, as if it didn’t belong there. She was utterly surprised. She had been too occupied with herself to provide the flower with the care it needed. Had she given the flower enough water? Should she have placed it in front of the windowsill instead of the table where it only received a limited amount of sunlight? 
      Gabby felt a tear fall out of her eye. The flower had given her the air she needed to breath and now that air was polluted and it was her fault.
      She turned to the photograph of her mother as if it would tell her what she needed to do. Nancy, held the living red flower so closely, as if letting it go would mean letting go of life. Maybe that was how the flower in the photograph continued to live. Every time Gabby looked at the image of the red flower, it possessed the same simplistic beauty it had the first time she saw it. Although Gabby understood that everything comes to an end, the image of the everlasting red flower in her mother’s hand encouraged her to believe the exact opposite. There was something Gabby could do to prevent the flower, she possessed, from continuing on its path of decay. 
      She thought, maybe if she provided the flower with as much love as Nancy did in the photograph, the decay would stop. 
      Gabby’s attention was on the flower. She thought that sitting at the table with the plant would prove that she loved it, but her efforts went unrewarded.  There was nothing she could do to revive the plant.
      She would wait until there was nothing left of the flower. 
      A week passed before all five petals fell. 
      The petals held the disappointment in herself and anger towards Nancy, who had been able to keep the same red flower alive for years. Gabby didn’t understand why the woman who did wrong was rewarded. Why was Nancy’s flower allowed to live while, Gabby’s died? 
      Gabby forced herself to collect the petals and dispose of them. The same petals which once carried life, now only carried animosity towards her mother. The shriveled up petals reminded Gabby of the many dried tears she had accumulated since her mother left her. She didn’t want to carry that with her. All Gabby wanted to do was go back to when she was able to live without thinking about her mother. 
      Gabby didn’t want to remember the flower, or her mother that way. 
      The life and death of the red flower gave Gabby the strength to move on. She no longer needed to have a mother in her life. She finally accepted Nancy’s decision to leave. She knew she would be okay if Nancy never returned.  
      Gabby looked at the photograph once last time. The happiness Nancy possessed was something Gabby now saw in herself. She no longer needed the photograph to remind her how to be happy.
      Gabby kissed the woman in the photograph before placing it face down on the table.
      “Bye mommy”, she whispered.
      At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Gabby jumped. The interruption startled her.
      Gabby walked down the long hallway which led to the front door. The opened door revealed a woman who was holding a single red flower that resembled the one that just died– the red flower that the woman in the photograph held as well. The woman holding the flower resembled Nancy. She had the same soft smile and the same bright eyes.
      Gabby took a step back. 
       “Hi Gabby”, Nancy whispered.    

The Red Flower, 11-12, p.1