My One, My Eternal Meadow - A Short Story

I felt the baby kick. It was a moment I had longed for, a moment that seemed almost mythical after three years of marriage without conceiving.

The constant nagging from our families and the relentless questioning from society had left me drowning in a sea of despair and confusion. I visited doctor after doctor, underwent countless tests and examinations, but the reports always came back normal.

"Eat this fruit for strength," "Try this remedy, it worked for my daughter," "Follow this prayer, and you will surely receive blessings." Everyone had an opinion, a solution. But no one seemed to understand what I was truly going through.

In the midst of this chaos, my one true support was my husband. He would pull me away from the pressures of the world, whispering, "No matter what happens, I will always love you," every time he saw me cry.

Credit: todaysparent website

Finally, after months of waiting, the good news came. I conceived. The joy was indescribable. I felt like I was floating, like I had won the lottery, like this was the greatest thing that could ever happen to me.

When we shared the news with our families, their joy was unbounded. They held a small celebration with just the family, a moment of pure happiness that we all cherished.

I took great care of the tiny life growing inside me. Every night, I would sing songs or tell stories to my baby. My husband often spent time talking to my belly, sharing the latest football updates or chatting about his favorite movies.

Everything seemed perfect.

The first time I felt the baby kick, it was like a tiny spark of hope igniting my whole world. It felt magical.

Nine months passed, and the due date was just around the corner.

One evening, after dinner, I took a walk in our neighborhood garden. After a few laps, I headed home and fell into a deep sleep.

And then I began to dream.

In my dream, I stood in a meadow. In the distance, I saw a little girl chasing butterflies and playing among the flowers. Her laughter was like the sweetest music, filling the air with its melody.

She turned to look at me, her eyes twinkling with delight. And at once I knew who she was. This was my baby.

She had curly golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with joy. Her tiny hands reached out to catch the butterflies, and her little feet danced lightly over the grass.

"Mama, look, I got you a flower!" she said, running to me and leaping into my arms.

She wore a delicate white dress that fluttered around her as she moved, adding to her angelic appearance.

She was so beautiful.

I held her close, feeling the warmth of her little body against mine. The scent of flowers and fresh grass filled the air, and I never wanted to let her go.

"Do you like it here, Mama?" she asked, her voice sweet and innocent.

"It's beautiful," I replied, my heart swelling with love. "But not as beautiful as you."

She giggled and took my hand. "Come, Mama! Let me show you my favorite places."

We spent hours playing together, running around the meadow chasing butterflies. We found a nearby apple tree and ate the sweetest, juiciest apples. I braided her golden hair, singing "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," and she joined in, her little voice harmonizing with mine.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the meadow, I said softly, "It's time to go home, sweetheart."

"But Mama, I love it here," she insisted, her eyes pleading. "I want to stay."

A pang of worry pierced my heart. "We can't stay, my love. It's time to go."

She shook her head, her tiny hands gripping mine. "You go ahead, Mama. I'll always be here."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to convince her. "Please, come with me."

She smiled, her eyes filled with a wisdom beyond her years. "Mama, I'll always be here. This is where I belong."

Realization dawned on me, a heavy, heartbreaking understanding. This was not just a dream. It was a farewell. "No," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "I can't leave you here."

She hugged me tightly, her little arms wrapped around my neck. "I love you, Mama. Thank you for taking such good care of me. I will always love you."

I clung to her, my heart breaking. "I love you too, my precious girl. Always."

As she hugged me one last time, the dream began to fade. I woke up with a jolt, a sharp pain radiating through my abdomen. "It's time," I gasped, waking my husband.

Fear and confusion filled his eyes as he saw my distress. "What's wrong?"

"The baby... I think it's time," I managed to say, the pain intensifying.

He tried to comfort me. "It was just a dream, honey. Everything will be okay."

But I knew. I knew what the dream meant. As the contractions grew stronger, we rushed to the hospital. The doctors quickly assessed the situation and decided on an emergency C-section.

Moments later, I delivered a baby girl. But she was lifeless, a stillbirth. She was just as beautiful as in my dream, with golden strands of hair and delicate features.

I held her in my arms, my heart shattered into a million pieces. I wept bitterly, hugging her tightly, my tears falling onto her tiny, perfect face.

"I love you, Mama. Thank you for taking such good care of me. I will always love you," her words echoed in my mind.

And as I kissed her goodbye, I knew that she would always be in that beautiful meadow, chasing butterflies and playing among the flowers, waiting for the day we would be together again.

Six years have passed since that heartbreaking day. Life, with its twists and turns, brought new joys and challenges. My husband and I were blessed with a beautiful baby boy a year after the loss of our daughter. His presence filled our home with laughter and love, healing the wounds of our past.

Image by Anja from Pixabay

Now, as I sit on the beach, I watch my five-year-old son build sandcastles with his dad. Their laughter rings out over the sound of the waves, a symphony of happiness that warms my heart. I close my eyes and feel the soft breeze against my face, the gentle touch of the wind like a tender caress.

As the wind whispers in my ears, "I love you, Mama. I will always love you," I smile, remembering the memories of my tiny bundle of joy. Her words, spoken in that dream so long ago, still bring comfort and a bittersweet sense of peace.

"Mama, look at my castle!" my son calls out, his eyes sparkling with pride.

"It's wonderful, sweetheart," I say, walking over to admire his creation. "You're doing a great job."

He grins and continues his work, while my husband wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Thinking about her?" he asks softly.

I nod, leaning into his embrace. "Yes. I always do."

He kisses my forehead. "She'll always be a part of us."

We sit together, watching our son play. The pain of our loss has softened over the years, transformed into a deep, abiding love that connects us to our daughter. I see glimpses of her in the little things—my son's laughter, the way he tilts his head when he's concentrating, the golden hue of his hair in the sunlight.

"Mama, can we go get ice cream now?" my son asks, his eyes full of anticipation.

"Of course," I reply, taking his sandy hand in mine. As we walk toward the ice cream stand, I glance back at the sandcastles, and smile at my husband.

Even in this fleeting moments of life, there is joy and wonder. Just as there is in the memory of my daughter, whose love continues to live in the whispers of the wind and the gentle waves of the sea.

As we enjoy our ice cream, my son chatters excitedly about his plans for the rest of the day. My husband and I share a look. Our hearts are full of gratitude for the blessings we have, even as we hold onto the memory of the one we lost.

And in that moment, surrounded by the love of my family, I know that she is with us—always.

This blog post is part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ 
hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla 
in collaboration with Zariya Healings.