“Defining Love”

I stared at the empty vase on the table. Earlier, I had thrown away the dead roses and washed the vase; I could still see a few water droplets clinging to the lip, catching the light like tiny diamonds. Strange as it seems, I have a kinship with this vase. It looks as empty as I feel; it’s fragile, ready to shatter with the slightest nudge over a perilous edge and break into a million pieces. An empty vase is desperate to be filled, half-crazy with the knowledge that it has nothing inside, where there should be something.
These thoughts exploded inside my brain like bullets in a firing squad, as I contemplated the impossible task that lay before me. A eulogy, for my own child…how could I possibly say good-bye to her? How can I, as her mother, let the world know what had been stolen from them - my spunky Melanie, my five-year-old never-ending question? Mommy, why do bees sting people…Mommy, where do spiders go when they die…Mommy, why do chocolate chip cookies taste so good…Mommy, why does grass tickle? I had a question of my own now, one I could never ask…why did you have to leave me all alone?!
I took a shuddering breath and picked up my pen again. Sometimes, I tried to tell myself bravely, sometimes things just happen. You can teach them the things they need to know, but sometimes they just don’t look both ways before crossing.
I realized I had written this last thought down and scratched it out. Trying to come up with something, anything to say, I suddenly thought back to a speech class I took in college, a long time ago. The professor once told us that a good way to begin a speech was by asking a question of the audience. I chewed uncertainly on the end of my Bic pen for a minute, and then inspiration hit. What is the definition of love?
I can’t think of a better question for my Melly’s funeral; she loved so much. It was the perfect thing to ask. I got out of my chair and walked with purpose to the bookcase. At last I had somewhere to start. I hefted the heavy dictionary; it could help guide me through my grief. Dust particles took a flying leap into my nose and I sneezed violently. I brushed the book off and carried it back to the table.
I started flipping slowly to the L’s but paused briefly at several sections to look at random entries. In the B’s, I spied the word “box” and was suddenly flooded by the memory of the little painted box turtle my daughter loved so much. She’d seen him all alone in the tank at a pet store and cried because she figured he must be lonely. Once we got him into a tank in her bedroom, she decided to name him Sheldon. She soon learned you couldn’t walk a turtle on a leash, but she loved him anyway.
I shook my head to clear away the memory. I had to find “love” before I gave in to another crying jag. But I could hardly help myself when I reached the F’s. Feather; Melly loved feathers once. She used to collect them when she found them in the yard. She had feathers from robins, blue jays, sparrows, a cardinal, and even a peacock feather I bought her at a zoo gift shop. But one day she put two and two together and realized that her beautiful feathers had fallen off actual birds. She thought it hurt them when the feathers fell, and swore she’d never touch another one again. She made me promise to throw the collection away; how glad I was now to have broken that promise. It’s just one piece in my own personal collection of Melanie memories.
Okay, I thought, willing the tears to dry, now I really have to find “love” or I’ll never finish. I tried turning the dictionary’s pages faster, in the hope that I wouldn’t accidentally stumble across another meaningful entry. But that didn’t help at all…it only made the memories fly faster. The words swam before my eyes, words that conjured a picture of Melanie with each turn of the page: freckle, hopscotch, igloo (she once said she wanted to live in one). Jumper, jump rope, kaleidoscope, kangaroo (one very difficult Halloween costume the year before). Lasagna, laughter, learning…then, the magic word. Love. I had finally reached it, finally found what I had been searching for. I took a deep breath and gripped my pen tightly.
“Love-a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection…” and suddenly I stopped writing. This can’t be right, I thought. It sounds too dull, too scripted, too…defined. Then I realized something. I didn’t need the actual definition of love to describe my daughter. All those words I had flipped by - those things all embodied Melanie, and to me, at least, Melanie embodied love. She was love. I finally felt ready to begin.
I walked outside to clear my head, and spied a feather on the ground. Nothing spectacular, just a small, brown feather. Used to the habit, I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Then I thought of my sweet girl. Melly, I prayed, if you’re watching, I’ll keep this promise. I took the feather out and gently put it back on the ground.