From the Ashes

Death knows no obstacle, no boundary as love rises from the ashes like a phoenix, soaring to new horizons.

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Edith sat in the garden, the lightest of breezes casually blowing grey strands of hair about her face. Despite the cumbersome wheelchair, she looked much like an ethereal being as beams of sunlight reflected off her white, cotton gown and the gleaming chrome of the chair. Butterflies and birds flitted all around as she became the enchantment found in fairy tales, surrounded by a wistful array of nature.

Nearby, her daughter, Isabelle, pulled weeds sprouting amongst the rose bushes. Ever since the dreaded disease had robbed Edith of so many functions, Isabelle had come at least once a week to work in the garden, thereby allowing Edith a chance to enjoy what she had once treasured whilst also enjoying a change of scenery. The garden had been her pride and joy.

Edith watched as Isabelle wiped a gloved hand against her forehead, smiled, and waved, but Edith was unable to reciprocate the greeting in kind. If she could have wept, she would have done so, so great was her remorse. Instead, she wept in the deepest recesses of her heart. She knew Isabelle no longer wondered what remnants of cognizance lingered in her mother for Edith’s vacant expression never faltered in her debilitated state. Still, with all her being, Edith wished to scream, “I’m still here – buried inside.” She wondered if she was already dead for this life did not seem viable or worthwhile any longer.

Of a sudden, a beautiful butterfly landed atop the soft gown covering her lap, fluttering against the breeze in an attempt at stability. Despite the wind, the butterfly remained firmly situated, as if longing to say, “Hold on, Edith. New life awaits.” It was irony most divine but certainly not sublime. Death would be a welcome visitor now. If only.....

It began with a shadow, much like those created in dew laden mornings when the sun is striving to peek through the skies. It grew and took shape, forming against brightly strewn rays of light. The shadow moved closer, until at last, the image of a young, uniformed man emerged. How could this be? Surely, her meds had made her hallucinate for John, her husband of forty years, stood before her even though he’d been dead for nearly ten years. Oh, but he was just as handsome as he’d been on the day when they’d first met during the war. Edith’s heart nearly leapt from her chest at the sight. How she longed to stand and throw her arms around him in welcome, but her treacherous body couldn’t even suffer a smile.

She watched as John lifted a hand. The butterfly that had been firmly rooted on her lap only moments ago, took flight, to settle upon his outstretched hand. John gave a wink and a smile as he whispered inaudible words to the butterfly. In seeming response, the butterfly flapped its delicate wings, lifted, and took flight. Edith watched as it disappeared among the roses in the garden where her daughter continued working. Watching it, Edith was strangely reminded of a phoenix, soaring in its flight, moving on to new and better horizons.

Turning back to Edith, John stretched out his hand and smiled. It was a beautiful, welcoming smile that reached and filled the core of Edith’s being. “It is time, my sweet. 'Tis not death we greet, but life.” The soft words he spoke resonated, sparking a fire of knowledge from the warmth embodied therein. Inside, Edith felt a sense of intimacy and rejuvenation. Joy encompassed her soul.

………

The butterfly flitted nonstop about the rose bushes where Isabelle was working. It seemed insistent, as though she must stop and take notice. She took a step backwards, not wishing to clash with it for it was much too delicate and beautiful on its mid-morning flight. In fascination, Isabelle watched the butterfly for a moment before she turned and took a step toward her mother, intending to move the wheelchair from the fast-approaching sun's glare. Instead, she was brought to an abrupt stop. Her mother’s once stiff body now gave an appearance of softness and youth, of mobility and flight, despite the grip of the chair that held it. Still, the thing that most gave Isabelle pause was the smile that graced her mother’s face. Edith appeared incandescently youthful in the peace that filled the garden. A newfound enlightenment struck, and Isabelle felt the truth of the moment seep into her bones. Though her mother was gone, with one glorious smile, she had broken free of the chains that once bound her. Edith was free.

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**In honor of all who suffer through Huntington's, as well as those who succumbed to their battle.**

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"You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life." Kahlil Gibran