Remembrance

“Excuse me miss, how much for that flower?” I gestured to the last red flower.

“15 cents,”

I clutched the last two coins I had tightly for a moment. For Grandma, I thought. I placed my coins on the table for the lady.

She didn’t look at me as she stretched behind her and handed me the Adonis. “Thank you, Congratulations on making another Remembrance Day.” She slid the coins to her and dropped them in her pocket, the clicked against the others she had.

I bobbed a curtsey, “And to you as well,” I mumbled as I sprinted off.

“Grandma do you remember what day it is?”

“It’s the day you are here, that’s all that matters.” She chuckled at my sour expression, “We all forget the little things occasionally my dear. We are both here together and that’s the important part. Now what is that you’ve got behind your back?”

Grinning, I showed her my prize.

Grandma beamed at me; it was worth my last two coins. “An Adonis, these are rare this time of year. It’s beautiful Priscilla.”

Grandma sat up slowly in bed. I handed her the flower. She took it with one hand and with the other, she held my cheek. “This is the best gift I have ever received. I cannot thank you enough.”

She gazed at the flower for a moment, lightly running her weathered finger along the petal. “Have you told you the story of my friend and what this flower means?” I shook my head and sat at the foot of her bed.

Those times when our memories are taken from us though are the worst. The memories of our loved ones snatched away, and we can’t remember how they changed us.

It was during the war that things were the worst. We didn’t notice our memories slipping away at first. But when it did, the effect was profound. There is one day that I will never forget.

The snow stopped and blood was stomped into the ground. We had the medical tents set up near a frozen pond. I remember how peaceful the pond was, the beauty next to the pain. The blood that colored the calm and quiet landscape. How odd that while we may lose our memories of people, the place remains frozen in our minds.

I had a friend; her mother was a nurse. One day she was taking care of a man on the verge of death. A blank looked crossed her face and that was it. Her essence, her drive, left her. No tears streamed down her face, she looked at the man she was stitching up, emotionless. I saw the questions in her eyes, “Why am I here? Who is this man? Why do I care?”

She held the needle in her hand, blood flowing from the wound below her. I counted the seconds until she moved again. Seven. It took seven seconds for her to continue her stitches. After she looked at me and asked if I knew why she started this job. “I hate blood, I always have. So why would I willingly choose this?”

I didn’t know the answer. Her eyes begged me to help, I didn’t know what to say, or how to help.

The day that man died she had seen this flower on the edge of the pond. She picked two and brought one to me. She told me what they meant and how she didn’t know how to feel anymore. She thanked me for supporting her, it was odd. The next day she was gone. I never saw her again.

My friend, I don’t know her name anymore, well, her mother was her idol.

Why do I remember so much when all of the memories are gone? Truthfully, I do not know, but it might be more of the experience and the landscape that lingers. I think she is alive but close to death. It’s only a theory but maybe that’s why I can remember bits and pieces of her but not her name. Then again, maybe it’s because the event changed how I see the world.

Ah, sweet child, you remind me of her, my friend. It’s those sweet eyes of yours, hopeful and wanting for change. Now, child, I have something important to ask you. What will you do to never forget those you love? Or to make sure you will never be forgotten?

Are you sure that will be enough?”

Grandma smiled gently as she stroked the petals, with a soft sigh she closed her eyes.

“I am grateful you got one more Remembrance Day Grandma.”