Lilac
The lilac is again in bloom.
But why is its blossom still fair in its delicacy? Why does its fragile beauty never fade? How can its fragrance remain so exquisite; so heady and yet elusive?
Why does its perfume return with every evening, to haunt me in the twilight as I move through this garden?
How can it be the same when you are gone?
You, who walked in the sunlight. Who laughed in the wind. Who rode through the mountains. Who acted with wisdom.
You, who were so strong and bright, and now gone.
So many things are the same. The sun's rays still warm my face; its radiance does not change. But I do not regret its light, because it dries the unshed tears that linger. It is my comfort in the morning, my final companion in the dusk. Its warmth heals, and slowly, I am renewed.
The wind still blows. It makes the leaves dance, a melody that joins with the music of the Bruinen as it passes on its way. The sound is such a comfort; to hear the harmony of the water and the wind, to catch some lingering notion of the music of the Valar. The breeze is a caress upon my cheek, it calms, reassures, and gently, it brings me peace.
This peace grows with every passing day, as I walk in this place of sanctuary. This place that the Eldar have created and loved. It is a shelter, an escape where I am at last able to accept.
Almost.
Aragorn has finally started to laugh again. Lord Elrohir has taken to tossing him in the air, and he loves it. He cries in delight, and waves his arms as he flies. He climbs on Lord Elladan's shoulder and pulls at his hair, but he just smiles, because they love him.
Our son has found his healing here. The nightmares have stopped and he now sleeps through the night.
I am so glad, because I know he will be well now. He will grow surrounded by love and nurture, and he will learn to embrace his future.
I know these things must come to pass. Some things will stay the same, and some will change. I can approve of them.
But how can the lilac still remain as it was, when you are gone? Why does it not wither? How can a thing that you loved, so delicate, so insubstantial, grow again in beauty and fragility when you are no longer here?
You, who rose with the dawn and died for the people you loved, strong and just.
How can it be that the lilac is here and yet you cannot smell or touch it? So frail, and yet always the same.
"My lady Gilraen?"
My name is being called. Lord Elladan's voice.
He is biding me come back to the house. Aragorn's nightmares must have haunted him again.
I will return. Life must go on, things must continue to change.
The lilac may grow and die anew with each autumn. But it does not change, and so you remain: strong and bright, and unchanging.
In my heart. Forever.