Flash

A Gift from Beyond

"Ouch!"

What's wrong with the little bastard now? Benjamin fumed internally. He looked up from his digging, trying to compose himself. His mother-in-law had already phoned Family Services twice, demanding custody of Benjamin Junior, alleging that a recently-widowed father could never provide the undivided attention that she would lavish on her grandson. This was not a propitious time to be caught behaving like anything less than a perfect parent.

Benny Junior charged towards him, tears flowing. At the last minute, he froze in his tracks and stood, head down.

"What's the matter?" Benjamin asked as gently as he could. He hated the way his son's tears brought a lump to his own throat.

"That stick has sharp thingies." Benny held out his bleeding palm.

Benjamin took his son's uninjured hand in his and walked over to inspect the offending stick. "Those are thorns," Benjamin explained. "That's a branch from a rose bush. I guess it blew over here from Mrs. Dawson's yard."

He looked up at their neighbor's window. Dottie was watching, as usual. She waved. He resisted the urge to give her the finger. No point offending her – she was always ready to babysit at a moment's notice. Since Angie's death, child care had become a never-ending hassle. It would be a blessing when Benny started grade one.

"A rose bush!" Benny exclaimed. "Let's plant it! We need a rose bush"

"Would you like a dinosaur band aid on your booboo?" Benjamin asked, hoping to distract Benny. But he knew it was useless. Benny had That Look – the same look his mother would get when she had made up her mind. The easiest way out was to play along with Benny's plan and let him find out the hard way that dead branches cannot be resurrected.

"I'll take care of it," Benny chattered as his father cleaned the scratch. "I'll water it every day and I'll talk to it like Gramma Dottie does. She talks to her roses, and they win prizes all the time!"

"Mrs. Dawson is not your grandmother," Benjamin reminded his son for the umpteenth time. "Grandmother Quayle is your grandmother – your Mom's mother." If Benny ever referred to Gramma Dottie in front of Mrs. Quayle, there would be hell to pay.

After the planting ritual, Benny danced in a circle as only an enthusiastic five-year-old can.. "A rose bush! A rose bush!" he chanted. "We're gonna have a rose bush!" Benjamin smiled in spite of himself. Life had been a dreary wasteland since Angie's death, but somehow, Benny managed to draw moments of joy out of the darkest days. Sometimes Benjamin wondered whether he understood that his mother wasn't coming back.

"Can I go tell Gramma Dottie about the rose bush?" Benny asked.

"Sorry. Not today. She has chemo."

"Chemo? What's chemo?"

"Medicine. Special medicine for cancer." Benjamin's stomach twisted,. What had possessed him to blurt that out?

"Cancer?" Benny asked with round eyes. "Is Gramma Dottie going to die? Like Mommy?"

"No!" Benjamin snapped, more harshly than he intended. "She's not as sick as Mommy. Anyway, she's a tough old lady."

"I don't want her to die!" Benny wailed. He wrapped his arms around his father's leg. "Don't let her die!"

Benjamin peeled his son off his leg. "Stop it! Crying won't change anything."

Benny ran into the house, sobbing, leaving his father beside the flower bed, dead, brittle, and cold, like the thorny branch. In a fit of rage, he pulled it up and threw it on the brush pile.

Benny found the branch the next day and re-planted it. His father ignored him. Benny would tire of the game soon enough.

Benny continued his daily watering and motivational dancing for the rest of the summer. When he started school, he took the branch to Show and Tell, and then carefully re-placed it in the flower bed. His teacher, his father, and Grandmother Quayle all explained that he was wasting his time, but Benny refused to believe them.

When the snow fell, Benny dug around the branch so it could hear him more clearly. "Keep trying! You can do it!"

By Easter, the snow was gone. The flower beds overflowed with colour – crocuses, tulips, daffodils, and a hyacinth or two. The grass grew and the robins returned. The thorny stick stood unchanged, dead as ever.

"Let's buy a rosebush," Benjamin said at last, in desperation. "I'll let you pick."

"No," Benny said, visibly struggling not to cry. "I want this one."

At the end of the school year, Mrs. Quayle announced that she was taking Benjamin and Benny on a cruise to Alaska. Benny refused to leave his imaginary rosebush behind. In desperation, Benjamin went to Dottie Dawson.

"I don't know what to do," he said, feeling very silly. In his senior management workplace, he was paid to know what to do.

Dottie smiled. "Don't worry. I'll talk to him."

She promised Benny that she would tend his rosebush every day without fail. Benny trusted Gramma Dottie more than anyone in the world, so he agreed.

When Benjamin and his son returned home after the cruise, Benny squirmed out of his car seat before the car had completely stopped, pushed open the door, and jumped out.

"Benny!" his father roared. "You know better than that! Time out!"

Benny didn't hear him. He was dancing with joy.

"It grew! It grew! I told you so!"

Benny was beside himself, pointing to a riot of fragrant white flowers growing where the stick had been.. Benjamin's firm, parental words melted in the light of his son's eyes. This was not the time to discuss safety rules.

"Mommy said she wanted to come back as a white rose bush!" Benny yelled. "And here she is!"

A lump gathered in Benjamin's throat. He tried to speak, but he couldn't.

His son looked at him with infinite compassion. "Gramma Dottie says it's okay to cry," Benny said. "She says her husband was tough as nails, but he cried when their baby died. And she still cries once in a while. She says crying gets rid of the bad stuff, so the good stuff can get in again."

Benjamin fell to his knees on the grass. Benny snuggled into his arms and they cried together for the very first time.

When Benjamin's sobs eased, he looked up at Dottie's window. She smiled and waved. He waved back.

When Dottie Dawson died, Benny was in grade two, and much more knowledgeable about the ways of the world. After the funeral, he stood hand-in-hand with his father, looking at their rose bush, which was just starting to bud.

"Mommy didn't really come back as a rose bush, did she?" he asked.

"No," Benjamin said, wrestling with himself. Even after hours and hours of gut-wrenching therapy, he still found strong emotions difficult. He wanted to say something clever and scientific, to show he was in charge, but nothing came to mind. "She's not a rose bush," he said. "But that doesn't mean she's dead."

"Like Gramma Dottie?" Benny asked.

"Yes. Like Gramma Dottie."