Petals. Marti Eicholz

salon-perfect hair “do” now tie up behind her head in messiness. Even working with customers, she became talkative, to where no one could get a word in. She spoke fast, seemed impulsive and distracted. Sam felt this behavior confused customers.

      Now that Scotty was older Mary had more responsibilities leading to increase stress. Sam suggested, “Mary, we have several projects scheduled that need your expertise. I recommend you concentrate on our custom designs. This would relieve you from shop duty and you could work from home.”

      Mary did not know how to respond. She sat with her eyes glazing over, her head buzzing and her heart rate racing. “Well, my mornings will be less hectic. I will miss the energy of the store and talking to someone other than Scotty.” Mary admitted.

      “Mary, your son is quite a talker and a great storyteller. The customers will miss his wicked sense of humor, saying the funniest cheekiest things to make faces light up. You and Scotty can drop in at any time and entertain.”

      Sam felt sadness for Mary and Scotty. He wondered what their future looked like.

      Sam also was sad for himself. He would miss Scotty. He would miss Mary. He stopped his sad thoughts knowing, I will always be in touch, dropping off and picking up projects. They can lean on me.

      Sam included Mary in his marketing ads and kept her busy as an independent contractor. To Mary’s delight most of her work was creating wedding gowns, preserving Edie’s memory.

      Not All is Perfect

      Now that Scotty was ready for first grade, Mary thought having him was a beautiful thing. He was a wonderful gift. Even though having children was never a priority of hers. Scotty was a bright little boy, inquisitive, adventurous with an inquiring mind and curious how everything worked.

      Mary felt he would do well in school. He loved to learn, never stopped thinking and turning things over in his head.

      Mary knew growing up in a healthy environment was a particularly important factor in determining how children function as adults in society. She knew children blessed with both a loving mother and a caring father was lucky. She also knew mothers have the biggest impact on their children’s lives. That thought frightened her.

      Mary in psychotherapy, reliving her past realized that not all parents are perfect no matter how much they try they can easily end up being a failure. There is no such thing as a perfect family.

      All families have their faults and sometimes it is enough to tear a family apart, but if all the members of the family care for one another and will go the extra mile to help each other, then it is good enough.

      It was a school holiday, so Scotty was home and sleeping late. Mary poured a cup of coffee and stood admiring from the oval window the beauty of this hillside place. She loved sitting down on the rock near the cluster of large oak trees especially, the one near the ancient maple tree with a huge trunk. There were wildflowers, many kinds, white, yellow, purple, and blue sprinkled around. It was a quiet place with reminders of her childhood and where she grew up.

      Mary stood in awe thinking this place on the knoll belongs to The Millers, Adam, Scotty, and me. It is beautiful and peaceful. These kinds of places are meaningful because they are natural and you can be alone, away from your everyday cares.

      Mary took her coffee and headed for the rock. She sat with her eyes open admiring the blue sky and the wispy clouds. Lying down on the grass, she listened to the wind, kissed the flowers, and watched the leaves move. Feeling a sense of contentment, she closed her eyes.

      When she awakened, propped up against the big maple tree was Scotty still clothed in his pajamas reading. With admiration Mary thought he loves books. In six weeks, he went from level 1 reading books to level 3 books and reads with confidence.

      Picking up the coffee cup, he started running toward the house. Mary yelled, “What are you doing?”

      With a quick yell back, “The bugs and ants are drinking your coffee. I’ll bring you a fresh cup.” Mary smiled, smelled the fresh air, and leaned back staring at the sky, feeling the wind on her face. Her thoughts turned to Scotty he notices everything, and he takes good care of me.

      Whenever Mary felt like her world was against her and her life just was not going how she wanted it to, she knew that she could always lean on Adam for support. Now that Scotty was getting older, she had Scotty as a buddy.

      Mary and her buddy spent the day grooming the rose garden. Late afternoon, they sat idly under an enormous oak tree eating chocolate ice cream and watching a whirlwind whisked across the rolling hill of the meadow. As it passed by them, the whirlwind scooped up a pile of rose petals they left lying next to the oak tree. The petals appeared to come alive, twisting, turning, and dancing about the meadow.

      Scotty giggled, “The petals are having a party.”

      As the party moved and scattered out of sight, Mary began to think about the petals of her life, the memories were vivid thoughts motivated by the images, scents, and sounds of her past and her present.

      She recalled a month ago today she had a doctor’s appointment for a routine checkup. I was alone with the doctor when I found out I was pregnant. The first thing the doctor said was “Mary, congratulations are in order. You are having a baby.” I sat in shock. I did not understand. What was he happy about? A person with a mental illness bringing another child into the world when she can barely cope with one makes no sense. But I did understand. Most would be elated.

      The nurse brought me a cup of water and said “Congratulations” again to me as I sobbed and sobbed. I called Adam. He heard my cries and consoled me. Finally, saying, “We will tell Scotty together. I love you.”

      The next few days I murdered daylilies that propagated all over the damn backyard. I hacked away at their extensive underground root system and pulled up lily after lily. I was sweaty and tired, but I really wanted those lilies gone, so I kept digging and pulling. A vague worry crept over me about the baby, but I did not think too much about it. The sky was gunmetal gray, but it never did rain. I was in a bad mood and enjoyed hacking at the roots.

      Ten plus weeks later a deep, pulling ache spread across my abdomen. I noticed the tiniest of smears on my toilet paper, a light brown smudge. There had been no problems before this. It was my second pregnancy. I knew that strange fluids and sensations were the order of the day. I called the doctor and said, “I’m sure it’s nothing. I am sure I am being silly. I should just calm down, right?”

      “It’s probably nothing,” the nurse on call had said, “but come in, just for your peace of mind.”

      The doctor — she was not my regular doctor, just the one on call the day I rushed in for my peace-of-mind ultrasound — said that nothing I had done could have caused this miscarriage. That was the first thing she said after she had told me the baby was gone. It had not even occurred to me that it might have been something I had done, so my mind raced with the possibilities. Had I done something wrong? How many ways could I blame myself for this?

      The doctor gave me the news while the ultrasound wand was still inside me. That alone was traumatic. You are not supposed to be given bad news while you are being penetrated. To all doctors: remove the well-lubricated instrument before you tell the patient her baby is dead.

      The life inside me had ended, and I did not even know it. It took a doctor to tell me. I wondered how long I was conversing with someone who was not even there. It is like being on the phone, and the call gets cut off, but you are still gabbing away like an idiot. It is the sort of thing you should notice that there is something dead inside you. Your body really should let you in on that information.

      I had no suspicions, no premonitory dreams — just a pain as I attempted to garden, and then the most insignificant spotting you could ever imagine.

      Right after the doctor removed the dead fetus, while I was still loopy from painkillers, I asked if it had been a boy or a girl — as if a tiny, complete baby had come out of me and not something that resembled a shrimp. How much more pathetic can you get?

      There