The Girl In Room 417

Untitled Part 18

The next instance in which I find myself holding flowers, they are again for Abby.

In one of our many, seemingly endless chats, she had admitted that she loves flowers. Her reasoning behind not wanting any at her funeral was that she didn't want them to have to die alongside her.

I roll my eyes internally. How typically selfless of Abby. I don't know why I was surprised, the response was so representative of her.

I glance down towards the packet in my hand and sigh.

Abby had also taught me about the significance of plants and flowers. I hadn't known that each flower held a different significance until she had told me; all the while her eyes aglow with glittering knowledge.

Emily clasps my free hand in hers and I glance down at her. She appears to be a vision of health, glowing beneath her locks of golden blonde hair. Together we kneel in front of the small plaque in front of us and gently place the bulbs into the soil.

I had chosen daffodils to be the flowers that would forever keep Abby company. The roots would infuse with the very essence that used to be her and grow; to emerge every spring time and represent her new beginnings.

Abby's end came far quicker than I could have imagined, and nothing could ever have prepared me for it. The day that she died it rained for hours and I was certain that the universe was mourning its loss. It was comforting, in a sense, and my own tears didn't feel quite so heavy upon my cheeks. Her funeral had been a quiet but respectful affair; the people whose lives she had altered for the better turning out in their masses to say goodbye. She would have thought it all too proper, I'm sure.

Together, Emily and I cover the bulbs in soil and pat down the earth beneath our fingers. I sit back on my heels and gaze upon the plaque bearing her name.

I will miss her for the rest of my life, of that I'm sure. But I also remember the promises that I made; the promise to live, to thrive and to prosper. To do everything that Abby couldn't.

The thought makes me sad for a moment.

But the realisation soon strikes me that I will never again be alone in anything I do. Not really. Everything that I do now is for the both of us. The thought makes me smile and as I do, the sun breaks through the blanket of cloud in the distance.

My sister grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly, the warmth and reassurance of her grip letting me know that she's still here; still fighting and still breathing.

And suddenly, everything feels okay.