Rowan burst from the house like a young colt who runs for joy. She looked much like a colt, tall, lanky, chestnut hair flowed down her back like a glorious mane. She was growing so fast there was an awkwardness in her gait as though her muscles had not quite caught up with her bones. But joy was clearly not the reason for her flight as storm clouds gathered on her wrinkled up brow and her hands were clenched in fists. Her mother, watching through the window, shook her head before she turned back to the stove and supper preparations. She knew Rowan was headed for the forest. She could only trust that somehow the forest would help Rowan find peace in this spring so full of turmoil. After all, she had named Rowan for a tree. The woods usually calmed her.By the time Rowan’s initial burst of speed was expended, she had entered the forest. Panting, she reluctantly slowed to a walk. It didn’t used to be like this. She used to run for hours. And now just this short way and she was winded. It was not fair!
She winced as she remembered what had caused her flight in the first place. Her mother could be so exasperating. So reasonable, but oh so exasperating at the same time. She replayed their conversation in her head.
“It’s not fair!”
“You’re right, Rowan. It isn’t fair. But that doesn’t change anything.”
“It’s not fair! I didn’t ask to get sick.”
“I know. But it happened. And, fair or not, it’s something we have to live with now. Something you have to live with.”
Until recently they all thought with a bit more time, she would get better. The pneumonia which had laid her low over the winter had, with the coming of spring, released its grip. She did improve, but only so much. Now it appeared that some permanent damage had been done to her lungs. “Reactive airway disease,” they said. Like asthma but not the same. If it had happened a few years earlier, her adolescent growth spurt might have lain in enough healthy new lung tissue to minimize the effects. As it was, they could only wait and see how much more, if any, she grew.
In the meantime she was tied to her medication. Nebulizer treatments four times a day. Prophylactic it was called. Designed to prevent an attack from occurring. Inhalers she was to always carry with her in case of need. Wait! Did she have one? She had left in such a hurry. Her heart raced as she patted first one pocket, then another with growing anxiety. With a sigh of relief she began to relax only when she felt the now familiar bulge in the back pocket of her jeans. Other pills and liquids waited at home for those times when prevention did not work. These once unfamiliar terms had become commonplace. Some days it seemed her whole life was medicine.
But where was she in all of this? What had happened to the girl she had been? Who was she now?
Her feet knew the way even as her mind spun in circles. Soon familiar sights intruded on her musings and, without conscious thought, she began to search the forest floor. She had missed so much time in the forest this spring. Was she too late for the first of the flowers, the blue lobed hepatica and the pink of the arbutus? Had all the birds completed their nests without her observation? Somehow the world had dared to move on through the seasons without her. She shook her head. It really wasn’t fair, but, like it or not, life went on around her and there was no going back.
A bit of yellow caught her eye off to the left. She stooped down and brushed last year’s decaying leaves aside. A dog toothed violet. She hadn’t missed all of the spring blooms after all. She reached to pluck it, then hesitated. No, she would leave it there to complete the life it had been granted. She turned and headed back to her own.
© 7 June 2004 Carol E. Burris All rights reserved worldwide. Reproduction or use of any portion thereof is a direct violation of U.S. and International copyright law.