Letters to Kelsey

Scarlett’s soft brown eyes were glued to mine as she laid across my lap with a smile across her face. I smiled as well, brushing her hair out of her face. We were sitting in the living room painting for hours and then, Scarlett decided to take a break. It was just about her bedtime and I could tell that she was tired, so I carried her upstairs into her room. Then I had turned on the little night light beside her bed and crawled in next to her. Her bed was so little, I could barely lay beside her comfortably.

“Scarlett, darling.” I answered in a uneasy tone. She rubbed her hands against her eyelashes and gently laid her head underneathe my chin. “I want to tell you a story, okay?”

“Okay, Mama. What is it about?” She replied, shifting her body closer to mine for warmth.

“Just listen, I think you’ll love this story.” I told her as I tried to remember the story my parents use to tell me when I was little, about heaven. Every little detail intact. “It’s about a beautiful woman named, Maria. She loved painting tiny wooden birds, mostly doves and she would paint them in different colors. So every morning, she’d make these beautiful birds before she went off to work for everyone in town.”

“Wow.” Scarlett smiled.

“Yes, darling. But one day, Maria had gotten very ill and everyone was worried.”

“Mama, that’s not good. Did she have soup?”

“Shh, silence. Just listen, honey.” I hushed, gently tapping her side. “Maria could not get out of bed, her hands became too weak to paint, but she still painted her little birds. Then came a huge white-winged woman appeared by Maria’s bed side.”

“An angel.”

“Very good. Yes, she was and she came down to take Maria to a very special place to make her feel better. Maria had then, laid down her last dove that she had painted and—“

“What colour was it, Mama?” Scarlett questioned, seemingly intrudged by the story.

“It was white,” I noted with a sense of happiness in the pale color that I had randomly picked out. “and has the most beautiful short beak, you’d ever laid eyes on. Maria looked up at the angel and pulled her blacket to her nose. Then the angel waited patiently…for her to fall asleep, and when Maria did, the angel took her to a special place called, heaven.”

“So she’s better now?”

“Yes. Maria also became a beautiful white-winged woman, now watching over the entire world.”

“That’s beautful, Mama. I love that story. Tell me again, I want to hear it again!.” She demanded, tugging my arm. “Please, Mama?!”

“Maybe tomorrow, Scarlett. It is getting late as it is.” I replied, pulling a strand of hair out of my face. “But I want you to know why I told you that story and that everything is okay.”

Scarlett pulled away, grabbing her yellow quilt from the bottom of her bed and thrown it over herself. She didn’t say one word, looking into my eyes as if she already knew what I needed to tell her. Only the worse around the way. I thought to myself as I tucked her in bed.

Then in a quiet, very calming voice she asked, “When will daddy come back home?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, honey.” I acknowleged her, remember asking Noah over and over in the past letters about him coming home very soon. I even planned to include the same question in the recent, unfinished letter. A long sigh left my lips before I could begin to tell Scarlett this—her father was never coming home and I didn’t even give myself the split moment to gather it all. “Remember I told you about daddy being a hero and he’s helping take down all the bad guys?”

Scarlett nodded as she rubbed her eyes once again. “Yes and he’s coming home...right, Mama?”

“No, baby. He’s not coming back anytime soon, but I tell you what—“ I choked, feeling the sudden urge to cry right in front of her. “Daddy is going to be in that very special place, watching over us…in the clouds.”

“Heaven.” Scarlett corrected me, for a four year old child she had understood this. Mama’s so proud. “He’s going to help Maria paint doves?” Her eyes sparkled beautifully in the dull night light.

“Yes, honey. He’s going to help her paint all those pretty little birds and watch over you every single day.” I explained to her. Scarlett smiled, unexspectedly and jumped out of bed. Without questioning, I knew I wasn’t going to have her back in bed. Scarlett rushed over to her closet, pulling out old art supplies that I had there since Scarlett found intrest in art, after her father. She also grabbed a few tubes of paint from my room, across the hall and Noah’s old sketchbook.

Shortly after Scarlett was set with all the supplies, she sat them in the middle of the floor and held the sketchbook in front of her. “Let’s make him a dove, Mama. You draw it and I paint it.” She instructed, waving the book in her hands for me to take.

“Well alright, let’s make him a dove then.” I gave in, turning the switch on the wall and sat beside her on the floor. I took the sketchbook and grabbed a nearby pencil, allowing a tear to slip from my eyelids. This was an remarkable idea, very splendant indeed too.

“I want to make him a dove that says, I love you. You are my hero and Mama’s too.” Scarlett explained, attempting to open the tightly sealed tubes of paint. I loved the idea, it was brilliant and I just knew for a fact that Scarlett was going to be an artist just like her father.

“Here, I’ll go grab cups from the kitchen and you sit tight.” I told her, wiping my face and stormed downstairs, into the kitchen. It was dark too, casting the evening royal blue light across the floor and cool air swooped along the way, causing my entire body to shiver. I stood there for a moment, ineffectable and subsequetly, another set of tears running down my cheeks. I still couldn’t put my finger on Noah’s death. It felt if as it was all a bad dream and I haven’t waken up yet.

My eyes watered, floading with more tears than I had allowed to shed. I could feel myself sobbing as I thought this all through and how amazing Scarlett had responded to her father’s passing over. It was just shocking, but I think—I still believe that it was okay. After a few minutes of crying amoungst myself, I wipped my eyes and grabbed a few porcelian mugs, then headed back upstairs. Scarlett had been waiting so patiently, she became useful and practiced writing her name on a sheet of paper.

“Scarlett, are you ready to paint?” I answered with a smile. Scarlett shook her head repeatedly.

“It’ll be perfect, Mama. Just watch.”