the garden.

WAKE. 

I jolted slightly, woken by a low and rumbling, yet calm voice. Confusion blurred my sleepy sight as I groggily tried to make sense of where I was. The soft light of the sky ahead of me, or what I had assumed to be the sky, gently opened my eyes, and soothed me out of the deep sleep I had been in. There was a warmth against my skin that felt too blissful to describe. Like warm summer air but with comfort woven into it like a blanket. I closed my eyes for a few deep breaths, allowing myself to take in this unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar sensation.  

As I inhaled, the scent of grass, flowers and fruit took over. It was as if my senses were slowly awakening. The aroma never overwhelmed, the three elements simply fused together flawlessly. 

When I opened my eyes again, I laid still, gazing up at the sky. After a few seconds of focusing my gaze, I realised that what I was looking at was pure, soft light. Not the sky, or at least the sky as I knew it, just an endless expansion of radiance. There were no clouds, no sun. No matter where I looked there was nothing to indicate where the source of light was coming from, it just was.  

It was then that I gradually became aware of my body, that I could move. So I sat up, faster than I probably should have, eager to figure out my surroundings, and was hit with a dizziness that seared through my head so heavily, that my eyes forced themselves shut and my hands shot to my temples and pressed as hard as possible. Just as quickly as the dizzy sensation began, memories flickered in my mind, slowly developing like photographs. Once the blurriness had cleared, I realised that I was looking at a memory of myself; curled up in a ball in my bed, tears streaming and flooding my pillow, my hands clasped together so tightly in desperation. 

I was praying, pleading with God.  

“Please God, just one moment with him, please…”  

Before I had a chance to understand why I was shown this memory, my eyes flew open. The dizzy spell stopped just as quickly as it had started, what had felt like lighting striking in my head had disappeared. I steadily released my hands from my head. I could feel that my heart had been pounding from the sudden flashback that broke itself open in my mind, but it was now slowly returning to its regular rhythm.  

Deep breaths, I thought, just take deep breaths. 

Still lightly startled but feeling more grounded, I decided to try and stand up, moving carefully to avoid another rush of dizziness, and look around to see where I had found myself.  

I was in a garden. And it looked never-ending.  

In every direction I turned there was grass, flowers, trees, and bushes. It all looked so, healthy. Otherworldly. The colours were so vivid I questioned if they were grown naturally or if they had been painted. The grass and the leaves of the trees and bushes were what I could only describe as emerald, with gold specs glinting in the light. There were flowers of every colour and shade that existed, and when a soft breeze passed over, the colours would lift from their petals and float through the air like dust being blown away from an old book. Wherever the wind blew, the colours created a sunset mirage that swirled and swayed before fading away in the distance.   

The sound of wind chimes glittered the atmosphere, sweeping a wave of tranquillity over my skin. If I wasn’t already on my feet, I would have easily drifted back to sleep. 

There were fruit trees that stood as tall and sturdy as a major oak. There were fruits I had never seen before, never heard of, that hung freely from every branch. The fragrance they gave off was so sweet I could almost taste their scent.  

I was in awe.  

Temptation nearly succeeded in pulling me over to the nearest tree to pick some fruit and feast until I was satisfied. But hesitation, and I guess some semblance of self-control, won, as I still had no idea who this unusually large garden belonged to. I didn’t even know how I got here. 

I don’t know how long I stood trying to take in everything I could see. I had no idea what time of day it was, what day it was, how long I had been here before I woke up. I was beginning to question if time even really existed here, wherever “here” was, at all.  

I decided I could not just stand here waiting for an answer to my stream of questions, so I thought I better start moving. I felt something shift to my right and when I turned to look, I noticed a cobbled path leading towards what looked like it could be a secret garden, but instead of being hidden away down a steep hill or on another side of a deep, dark tunnel, it was surrounded by forest-green wooden fencing, with a gate coloured to match. Within the fencing were trees and bushes arched in ways that mimicked walls and a roof. The longer I stared at the beauty of what seemed to be a second garden, the sounds of voices faint in the distance began to trickle into my ears, gradually, then all at once. Even though the voices were far away, they sounded joyful. I could only describe what I heard as, heaven.  

Before my thoughts could organise themselves into a decision, my legs started moving towards the path. It wasn’t until I stepped onto the cobbled stones that I realised I was barefoot. But my body just kept moving without questioning, striding forward purposefully as if it had been here before and knew exactly where to go to find what I was looking for. What was I looking for? 

That didn’t seem to matter much to my legs as they just strolled on.  

The voices became clearer the closer I got and I noticed that they were children’s voices. They were laughing and the joy it filled my heart with could not be put into words. I found myself smiling, truly smiling, which felt oddly foreign. My face had not formed this action in, well, years.  

When my body finally decided to stop taking the lead I paused in front of the gate. I felt the need to prepare myself for whatever was ahead, whatever I was about to encounter. Not that I thought or could sense that anything bad was about to happen, but because it was simply unknown.  

I gently pushed the gate open and cautiously stepped into the garden. The cobbles continued passed the gate around a corner, walled by bushes and smaller trees with the same unfamiliar fruit I had seen on the large trees earlier. I hesitantly rounded the corner, the laughter and playful shouts growing in volume, but it was never too much, never too loud.  

I paused as the walled bushes opened out to what I had guessed the space to be, a second garden. But it was not the ethereal atmosphere of the garden itself that stopped me in my tracks, it was the small, happy-faced boy that was standing ahead of me. His smile bright, freckled brown skin, honey-brown eyes that sparkled with joy, and tight, short black-brown curls framing his sweet face.  

His smile let me know that he had been expecting me, waiting for me. Everything in me wanted to call his name. I knew his name. But the shock that overtook me froze my words, it froze me in place.  

Isaiah.  

Before I could break out of the shock that held my being hostage, he ran over to me. My body finally freed itself and my knees gave out beneath me seconds before he reached me, jumping into my arms with a squeal so cheerful it made my heart hurt in the loveliest way. My eyes welled as I held him close, his little arms wrapped around my neck and his head resting sweetly on my shoulder.  

Home.  

I wanted to loosen my hold, just to have a chance to see his precious face up close, but I could not bring myself to let go. I could have lived in the heart of this moment for eternity without asking for anything more.  

My sweet boy was in my arms and he was okay. He was healthy. He was alive. He was free.  

When I finally let go, I stared at his wonderful, little face, cupping his cheeks, making sure to store every single detail deep within my memory. I never wanted to forget his dimpled smile, the way his eyes lit up, the freckles dotted over his cheeks in all their varied sizes and shades of brown. I did not want to forget anything about him.  

If this was all a very vivid dream, I wanted to - had to be present in each second that I had been gifted.  

“I missed you, Mama” 

Those words made tears well in my eyes all over again, it took every ounce of strength not to break down, I didn’t want to worry him. He was so happy. I was so happy.  

“I missed you too, Little One” 

At that moment, I was reminded of the flickering memories that came to mind after I had woken up in the first garden. I was reminded of my cries of grief where I begged God to let me see my boy, the weight of loss tearing my soul apart as I lay alone in my bed.  

This was not a dream.  

I don’t know how I knew, but I just did. That knowing was planted so intensely within me that I could not question it even if I tried. I had been gifted this moment. God had saw it fit for me to have this moment, to have this time with him. The gratitude that washed over me was so strong, and still I felt it wasn’t enough.  

“Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God…” I prayed it a thousand - a million times over. My head hung low and my hands cupped my face as I wept with joy.  

This is really happening.  

Isaiah gently grabbed my face with his soft, small hands, lifted my head, and wiped my tears. I looked at him, our smiles so full, then embraced him again. Please don’t let this end just yet. Just a little more time, please.  

I kissed his cheek and he let out a giggle. Then I remembered the other sounds of laughter I had heard. I pulled back slightly from our embrace and asked him, “I heard other children playing here too, where are they?” He smiled and stepped aside so that I could see. I stood and saw that there was a small wooden bridge near where he had been standing when I had entered the garden, with a stream peacefully flowing underneath it. On the other side of the bridge there were parents embracing, playing, and laughing with their children.  

Had they all prayed the same prayer as me? 

My heart ached. Partly with joy that their cries were heard and answered too, but also with pain, because they had to pray those prayers in the first place.  

Isaiah grabbed my hand and tugged, pulling me out of the daydream it felt like I was in, “are you going to stay?” His voice was delicate, almost pleading. There was still a gentle look on his face, but his smile was gone now. He looked over at the bridge, then back up at me in a way that was telling of what his question meant. There were no parents and children on our side of the bridge, just us.  

If I crossed that bridge, I would get to spend the rest of my life filling that aching void that had torn its way through my chest the day that he left. If I chose not to, I would be going back to reality as I knew it - grief, life, and more grief.  

But would it always be that way? There had to be hope somewhere, right? Relief? Peace? 

No. I want – I need to stay.  

I knelt in front of Isaiah, taking both of his hands in mine. Looking at him, I began to speak. “Isaiah, I-“ 

“It’s not time just yet, Mama.” His eyes sparkling as he smiled. “When He says so. Just for one moment, remember?” His reminder of my words made me feel sore. “I should have asked for more, shouldn’t I?” A small laugh escaped as tears slowly filled my eyes. He gently grabbed my face again. “You asked just right. You asked for what would get you through, for what would piece your heart together, even if it’s just small piece by small piece. You asked just right.” The tears fell and he wiped them away. “This isn’t goodbye, we will see each other again soon.” His little voice was a promise to my heart that I knew could never be broken. “We will see each other again soon.” I repeated, nodding tearfully in agreement.  

He smiled his lovely smile at me and curled himself back into my arms again, his head resting against my chest, my head resting on his as I rocked gently side to side. I closed my eyes, savouring this moment. Knowing that at some point it would have to end, the pain of not knowing when, slowly creeping in.  

“I love you, Mama.” The warmth in his tone was soothing.  

“I love you, my sweet boy.”   

This is not goodbye. 

I told myself once, twice, so many times that I lost count. My son was in my arms, and he would be here again. I was sure of it.  

I had kept my eyes closed for so long, rocking us both in an easy rhythm, that I must have drifted off. 

Wait.  

My eyes flew open. I lifted my head slightly from my pillow and looked directly in front of me. I could see my side table, my lamp that I never turned off, my notebooks and a cup of now cold sleep tea. I turned slightly to look out my window and saw sunlight pouring into my room. I was in my bed, laying warm under my sheets, another pillow held tight in my arms.  

I pressed my head back on to my pillow, disappointed in myself for believing that what I had just experienced was real. It clearly was not. I was just a grief-stricken mother who wanted her baby back, nothing more, nothing less.  

I squeezed my pillow in my arms for comfort and felt something thin and velvet-like in my hand. I frowned in confusion and pulled my hand out from under my sheets and saw that I had been clasping a flower. The scent quickly took over my senses, triggering images of that beautiful garden and Isaiah in my arms to flicker in my mind. Tears began to stream without warning as the realisation set in.  

It was real.  

YES.  

I startled at the immediate and unexpected response. The answer was so loud, so clear, I thought it had come from the sky for the entire world to hear.  It was the same voice that had woken me up in the garden. The way it rumbled with command but remained calm was all the same. 

God. 

He had answered my prayer. Gave me the one moment I had begged and cried out for. To say I had felt blessed was an understatement. 

“Thank you.” It was all I could manage to speak out through my tears. Joy swelled in my chest as I held both the flower and my pillow close.  

I will see you again, my angel, just you wait.