She felt the pew shake with each gasp, between sobs. She no longer attempted to contain herself. It didn’t matter anymore. Everything she had known was now blurred into thoughts of the past and present. Her hand holding the tissue, her husband covered with his own hand. He understood, because after all, she was his daughter, too.
Their only daughter, a week ago playing and laughing like any other healthy, nurtured child. Her brown ringlets flowed gently past her shoulders, and her blue, pensive gaze captivated all who met it. She was always known as the “miracle child” because being as premature as she was at birth clung to life by only a thread. After 3 months in the hospital she was finally able to come home to her loving parents and older brother. She’s now called the “miracle maker.” Just a week ago, at 8 years exactly, she was as healthy as could be. Emily was beautiful in every way, and kind to all who met her. She had a presence about herself that told the world she was ready for anything. For her birthday her father gave her a dozen roses, and an “I love you” for each.
As she was walking home from school just four days ago, she noticed a fire in the corner of a house, close to her own. A baby was screaming inside, she could hear. Without hesitating she ran into the house and found herself surrounded by clouds of smoke. She neared the babies pleas for help and heard panicking voices calling from the other room. She felt as if she was being suffocated and as she grabbed the baby from his crib and ran toward the front door. As she neared it a rafter fell on her leg, trapping her frail body underneath it. The smoke soon filled the room completely as she let the baby crawl away. Soon her lungs were filled with smoke and she let out her last weak scream. At home, her roses began to wilt.
Emily’s mother broke out crying as she replayed the scene over and over in her head thousands of times. The only thing that kept her going was the assurance that she saved the baby’s life that day.
Two hours later her mom picked up the shovel and laid the first portion of dirt over her “miracle maker’s” urn. Tears streamed down the faces of the ones who loved her. Her father placed the dead roses over the spot where she was buried and everyday for the next year Emily’s family brought her a new rose. Somehow that gave them hope to carry on. Somehow that gave them hope to be ready for anything, as their daughter had been.
~Sarah
