May 2, 2001
Wren arrived at the graveyard with Elsie. At almost three years old she was a handful, Wren wouldn't change a minute of it.
Finding the headstone was always easy, it was next to the one that was always full of bright colors and various strange oddities that moved and whirled. Wren was sure the flowers placed were always the same as if they never died. She vowed that one of these winters she would check on it to see if they indeed ever wilted.
This would be Elsie's 5th trip. They tried to visit on his birthday and the day of his death. Wren and her daughter had picnics and she would tell Elsie's father all about his daughter's antics and growth milestones.
It often made Wren's heart ache for what could have been.
Today, Elsie was feeling adventurous, Wren watched as she let her toddle around nearby. She went over to the brightly colored grave and started talking. Elsie was a chatterbox so Wren wasn't surprised to see her chatting away at nothing.
The way Elsie sat and talked to the stone, made her think of the nice boy that helped her the day of the funeral. As Wren thought about what had become of him, she watched as Elsie laughed and smiled. It was apparent to Wren that her daughter was having a very active moment of imagination. She delighted in her daughter's uniqueness and creativity.
Elsie ran to her mother, "Mumma, the flowers are magic." Wren chuckled, "Is that so? How do you know that?"
"He told me they were Mumma?" Wren hid her mild concern under her smile, "Who?" Elsie looked over to the other grave to see if someone was lurking about, "My friend, he hasn't told me his name yet but he told me the flowers were magic."
"Well that would explain why they never seem to wilt." Wren played along, seeing now one, Wren figured that Elsie was now in her imaginary friend stage.
The rest of the afternoon was spent playing with Elsie and her imaginary friend. They had tea and snacks and lots of giggles. After they finished their picnic, they packed up and returned to the car.
If Wren had been paying attention, she would have seen the ginger boy she was thinking about earlier walking by her on his way to the brightly decorated headstone.
Later that evening, after putting Elsie down for the night, Wren heard murmuring from her room. As she listened from the outside of the door she heard her giggling and whispering, "No, my Mum would not like it if we did that, but what if we draw her a picture of a frog with a giant tongue instead?"
Wren smiled to herself feeling a moment of peace as she laid her head down to sleep that night.
