Through the Thorns

Today my dad, Kamden and I went to the cemetery.  After taking care of some business side of it all, I went to Kaidance's grave and sat to talk to her.  I inadvertently almost sat down on a small cactus that has started growing just beside her temporary name marker.  I sat and just talked to her for a good while, but eventually I found myself just staring at the cactus.

I've never thought of that type of plant being beautiful, but for some reason today I saw genuine beauty in the tiny, thorny plant.  It was a deep mid-tone green.  Not a forest green, but not by any means bright either.  Just a bit bigger around than a half dollar and probably 2 inches tall, it was thriving in the middle of acres of yellowish, dead grass.  The only other green I saw anywhere were random weeds growing up here and there, but near Kaidi, only the yellowish grass and her little cactus.  The beautifully green, painfully thorny cactus.

I fought the urge to reach out and touch it.  I knew if I did that it would hurt, but to look at it, it appeared to be so soft, so fragile and so beautiful.  In the middle of this horrible drought that we've been having in West Texas, there was proof of life growing right next to where my precious daughter rests.

After thinking about it more this evening I realized that I'm like that cactus.  There is beauty inside of me.  The "green" part of me at this point is largely Kaidi.  The beauty and joy she brought to us for 40 precious minutes in a sterile hospital room.  The strength of the kicks that she woke me up with at night and the way she taught us to hope for the impossible.  The "green" is also my precious family.  My husband who has been nothing but supportive and encouraging.  My miracle son who holds me and tries to comfort me even though he's only three and doesn't totally understand what is going on.  The "green" is who I was and who I am starting to become slowly.  There is also a thorny side.  That side grows to protect as fiercely as possible the green beauty that still exists even though at times it's very hard to see.  Thorns like solitude, silence, busyness, and so many others.  I have to do whatever I can to hold those things as near and dear to me as I can.  At least in my mind, I do.  Those thorns grow to protect the beauty I'm afraid to lose.  The memory of who she was in her short life.  The smell of her hair.  The feel of her skin when it was still warm.  The love of my husband - that he'll decide it's all just too much to handle and I'll wake up one day and he'll be gone (no worries, we've had LONG talks about it all and things are fine - he's not going anywhere).  That somehow trimming back those soft looking spines will cause something to happen to take away my precious son.  Either that he'll come to physical harm or that (thanks to a dream) because of having PTSD and "not dealing as well as I should" they force me to give him up to authorities while he cries for me, "Please Momma, don't go!  I promise, I need to be a good boy.  I'll BE a good boy!"  (Yes, that was a real dream and it was HORRIBLE.)

My point is that I'm covered in spines, thorns, just like that tiny cactus that's growing beside where my daughter rests until Christ's return.  But through all those thorns, you can still see my green parts.  You can see the beauty that's still there, but you have to look at it for a while.  You have to look at me for a while too.  I may not make it easy to do so right now, but it's a total defense mechanism.  It's not that I want you to stay away - not in the slightest.  In fact, I would LOVE for you to realize that a cactus is a plant too.  It needs nourishment just like any other.  Sure, it lasts longer without water....but eventually, without nurturing, even a cactus will wilt, turn yellow and eventually die.  Don't let the thorns scare you...even if you occasionally feel a prick and the pain that the cactus doesn't realize it gives off and doesn't mean as anything more than protection, it still needs you.

I still need you.  Don't give up on me.