It's a strange world we live in. Children are starved to death every day, but yet we're more concerned about what new artist is going to win the billboard music awards.
It's also funny how the health care system works. In America, we basically have to fend for ourselves if we don't have insurance, and if you're lower middle class to poor, it's very unattainable. Sure, we have "government assisted programs" that allow you to have insurance, but it includes expensive deductibles and the coverage isn't great.
But that's where I come in.
My mother always knew I was special. I never knew I was until the words had come out of the blue one sunny Sunday morning.
"Your mother has died."
I was 15 at the time. While listening to my story, you may think that this is another sob filled romantic chick novel where the heroine has endured some tragedy and doesn't believe she is worthy of love.
Not. Even. Close.
I never resembled her. I had tan skin, light silver grey hair, and a long face with dark eyebrows. Some would call me pretty, some wouldn't. My mother was a blonde babe. Typical 30 year old "hot mom." At the age of 15 I think I was more insecure than your average teenager. I sheltered myself. Mostly because of my lifestyle. I wasn't rich, I wasn't poor, but I had the elements and things of my life that were important. I just never thought to try to be different from the crowd because my main goal was to blend in and not allow others to see the parts of myself that were considered a tragedy.
When I was told the news, I already kind of knew. "Death is inevitable," is what our primary care physician warned us of. She had only a few months left. A part of me was depressed, a guilt trodden emotion left with regret of how I could've made her last days more enjoyable.
Death is funny, you never truly know when you're last day, hour, minute, or second is, When your chest breathes out the last breath of life, or when the last time you'll see the faces of your loved ones are.
When you're 15, you believe everything is the end of the world and there is no way out to your unbearable pain.
But I survived and lived on to help not only myself, but others. My mother was special, and I had no idea she was until I was left a note in my mailbox.
Dear Ellie,
You're probably reading this not knowing who it's from. This may confuse you, and you may not understand quite what the monstrous gift you have given that will change the light of the world. I cannot tell you how to control what abilities you have as a young woman, but there is only one way I can help you understand.
I know you love to leave picked sunflowers on your windowsill. The next time one has died, I want you to hold the flower in your hand and imagine how beautiful it was, full of life and emitting so much pleasure not only into your world, but others as well.
That's how you know.
Love,
Summer.
Summer is my mother's name. It's a beautiful way to describe her spirit. Full of warmth and life.
A week later one of the sunflowers that my father picked for me every week died. It was sad every time it happened. It's amazing how something can be so immaculate and beautiful, and the next not showing any signs of existing.
I went to my windowsill in my green bedroom. My bedroom was small, but had a small garden of flowers piled up in every corner to resemble a happy day and a happy life.
I held up the sunflower to my face and really admired how beautiful it was. I looked outside and closed my eyes. I focused on how the birds chirped a song of love and the trees rustled slightly in the wind.
I thought of the flower for a full minute and opened my eyes.
It was alive again.
