~*Death of a Child*~
By: Lauren-Eve Lazar
The whistling wind is left silent today. The singing sparrow has no song today. The
scampering squirrel has no game today. For today was the death of a child.
A child, now dead, was once alive. More alive, perhaps, than yourself, or than any
person living, or for certain, more so than I, as I gaze blankly upon that sole maple tree in
Willow Grove where she used to grow and play. That tree is old and withered now, its
branches twisted into a tangled bramble of limbs, its few remaining leaves now void of
their luscious green hue, having been drained of all color by the cruel and bitter autumn
winds. Its trunk, a once sturdy pillar of youthful wood is now but a tired mass, barely able
to carry its own burden, and at its base, mounds of insect infested dirt lie where healthy
grass once thrived. I stand now upon this dire earth, myself as well not able to carry the
burden which has been suddenly laid upon me. Instead, I carry a single rose. Its thorns
prick like needles at my tired and callused hands and a drop of blood is shed. For a
moment, its uncanny redness catches the light, a glistening ruby amongst its bleak
surroundings. However, like all things which dare to shine, it is quickly devoured,
absorbed into the avaricious ground below. I close my weary eyes and begin to remember
those precious days long past...
How sparkling her eyes were then, as she swung like a monkey from the sturdy
limbs of that favorite maple tree. Above her, the summer sun shone like gold, and fluffy
cotton candy clouds dappled the otherwise clear blue sky with their almost pinkish color.
The air was sweet with the scent of freshly cut grass, and the joyful hum of life filled our
ears. She must have been about six then, maybe seven. No older though, for her cheeks
were still sprinkled with youthful freckles, the mark of her childhood. Her hair was tied
back in two lopsided pigtails, fixed with pink ribbons to match her rosy flowered dress.
And oh how her eyes shone, those glistening blue eyes. I swear they would have been no
more precious had they been sapphires. "Look! Look!" she beckoned in her childish sing-
song voice. "Look what I can do!" I watched with wonder as she swung from those
branches, so innocent and careless. "Did you know that I'm going to be an acrobat one
day?" she declared. I smiled at her naivete. "Because acrobats get to travel the world in
the circus. Or maybe I'll just be a movie star, because movie stars get all the attention. But
I think that maybe I'll be a millionaire. I haven't quite decided yet." My smile turned to
laughter. She giggled along with me, the sound of it filling my heart with joy, although she
was probably not quite aware of why she was laughing. But it did not matter then. All that
mattered then were hopes and dreams and lollipops. It was so simple then...
Years passed. Summers and winters came and went. But the maple tree still stood
tall. She was older then, a young adult then, eleven years old then. It was spring, and as
she sat beneath the maple tree, her gangly legs sprawled wide apart, she momentarily
gazed up to into my eyes inquisitively, as if she were trying to decipher my thoughts. It
was only for a moment though before she resumed twirling a lock of her dirty blonde hair
around her skinny finger, and awkwardly rotating one of her legs back and forth, swinging
her sneaker-clad foot from side to side. Then, she paused again and resumed her
inquisitive stare. "Can I ask you something?" she finally blurted out. I nodded my head.
"Do you think that I'm dumb?" My brow furrowed with concern. "Because at school
today, one of the mean kids said that I was dumb because I wanted to stay after school to
help Miss Roberts to clean up. And then all the other kids started laughing at me. Because
the thing was that I just wanted to help out... because I really like Miss Roberts and...
well... nevermind..." She again resumed her childish fidgeting and seemingly disregarded
the matter. If only I had known then. Why hadn't I seen then. It was not yet too late then...
More summers and winters came and went. The years went on, and we both grew
older. She was fifteen then. It was nearly autumn then. The maple tree was losing its
leaves, and the bleakness of the season had already begun to show through Willow Grove.
I only watched then as she lay down beneath her beloved tree. Age had toughened her
once childish features. Her eyes had lost their shine. The sapphires had turned to oceans
deep with sorrow. A tear trickled down her cheek. I could only watch and admire her
beauty, unbeknownst to herself, as the bitter wind rustled through her wheat colored hair.
This time, she did not look up for my approval. She did not look up for my advice. She did
not look up at all. She simply sat as that single tear trickled down her cheek. It was only
that tear which spoke the sorrowful words for her. Why didn't I speak then? She must
have needed me then. Maybe it would have mattered then...
It is almost winter now. She would have been seventeen now. She is no longer
with me now, as I stand once again beneath the tired maple tree. I fight the tears back as I
toss that single rose upon the toughened ground below, the only thing of beauty now left
in this once thriving place. "Suicide..." they'll say. "Shot herself in the head..." they'll say.
"So sad..." they'll say. And it is. For I was her mother, though a mother I am no more.
And there is nothing that's sadder than the death of a child.