When will she sing to me?

As the morning sun beat down upon the ground that summer morning, Sally looked out across the grassy yard, set her gaze upon the leafy and colorful bush in front of her and affectionately admired the fluttering wings of the myriad “fairies” that hovered in the air.

“I can hear them speak to me.”

Sally always had a way of speaking to those with whom she felt a close psychological connection.  It was there since day one, a sort of innate quality that was provided to her through the grace of her creator and the wisdom and randomness of physiology.

Today was no different than other days, in that there was always something – a bird, a song, a moment, a friend or a memory – that spoke to her in ways that no one else could possibly contemplate. 
Sally, though, had a gift.  She was sweet, kindhearted, precocious, extroverted and curious about the natural world all around her.  She was extremely childlike even beyond what a normal young child would routinely seem to be.

“I’ve seen her before.”

We may recall a time when Sally visited her aunt who used to live a far distance from home and the visits were never enough to satiate the bond and affection that obviously existed, but few could entirely fathom.

Who would have ever envisioned two individuals, appearing to be so many generations apart in age from one another, to bridge that divide with a soulful and majestic bonding that day.

They would talk about fun things – of course baby dolls and Barbie’s, but that wasn’t Sally’s kind of fun you know, instead the lite and inclusive conversation between them dovetailed into singing songs of beautiful feeling, of her airy sensibilities and compassion for God’s living creatures on Earth.

Jean, Sally’s mother, stood nearby with other family members, whom she hadn’t seen in a many long and agonizing year, and cast her eyes across the dining room table to where her daughter and aunt sat.  

“This can’t be,” Jean thought to herself.  “My not-even-four-year-old-daughter is actually verbally engaging with Auntie Emma.”

The angels, statuettes and shiny cross of the crucifix with Jesus Christ, which was prominently tacked above the archway into the kitchen for maximum exposure for all of those who may have forgotten for whom they are supposed to give thanks to day-in and day-out, evoked the air of spirituality throughout the room.  Even the non-religious folk couldn’t escape its pull.  It made the goodbyes seem almost palatable to Sally and us all.

“Will you always be there with me?”

It was a long ride home that evening after the dinner, conversations, recollections of past times and places were concluded.  It never seemed as though it was never enough time, especially for Sally.  She never fought it, though.  The goodbyes came and went, but the sadness and tears that were expected never materialized.

Was it denial?  Shock?  Understanding?  Nobody knew it at the time, but it was something more, something extraordinary.

Sally would, from time to time, talk about her interactions with the natural world in a way that seemed foolish and silly.  Coming from a child, though, it was what was expected.  Children always have vivid imaginations that include bold stories and make believe, but this was different.  Sally had a way with those fairies.  Man, those fairies, they just seemed to be everywhere, but only when Sally was present.
Nobody had ever seen so many before, particularly with such regularity of course when Sally was present.  Coincidence?  Luck?  Many just didn’t give it any notice or care, but Sally knew better.  Of course, she did.  She knows her friend and her friend knows her.

“But there are so many of you!”

It was towards the end of summer and family vacation time was at hand.  The sun was getting in its last burning rays before turning its gaze towards the southern hemisphere and thus blanketing the north with many months of cold and frigid temperatures.

Even before the telephone rang, Sally saw the hawks dancing in the skies above that day and this made her happy.  They were talking to her, comforting her mind and soul from whatever may have been affecting her heart.  We didn’t feel it.

The ringing wasn’t the usual sound of a phone, not anymore thanks to these new-fangled mobile telephones that everyone seems to have their noses glued to 365-24-7 these days.  It was a melodic tune, but ominously it didn’t illicit the intended gleefulness that the app said it would evoke each time it was heard.

No, this was different.  The hawks above told her so and we didn’t want to believe them.
Could she really be sick?  There had been bouts before and Aunt Emma always pulled through, but the hawks above spoke a somber tune this time and Sally knew it.  But, how does a young child supposedly know these sorts of things when our adult minds know full well that there is no way they could ever suppose it?  Of course, it’s best to keep their happiness flowing at this age, thus keeping the sad reality in disguise.

“I want to sing you a song.”

The picture on the wall gives comfort, provides the memories and brings that pretty smile to her face.  Sally treasures it with all her heart.  Do not dare touch it without asking first she might say, but no, her kindness shines through and instead breaks into joyful stories about their long, adult-like conversations before, during and after dinner.

Outside on the lawn that summer day, with the windows and doors ajar to let in the fresh, clean air, we could hear the faint sounds of Sally talking to someone, even though we knew nobody was with her.  Silly childlike make-believe again it must be.

“I’ve missed you, but I’m happy you’re here.”

Sally was there on the lawn, kneeling in front of that colorful bush with the blue flowers and four of those fairies, as she liked to call them, were fluttering around her head, dancing in concert with her high-pitched voice and sweet song.

“All of her days have gone soft and cloudy, all of her dreams have gone dry, all of her nights have gone sad and shady, she’s getting ready to fly………fly away, fly away, fly away…………”

She loved John Denver and this song had special meaning on this day, even though we’ve heard it emanate from her voice a dozen times over.  Sally was singing to the fairies, who seemed to be dancing in the air to the changing tones of her voice and the lyrics.  Was this a game?  Was this practice for music class?  Or was it something else?  Something mystical and magical maybe?

Not wanting to intrude on Sally’s personal moment, Jean put her ear to the screen door to get a closer listen.  And what she heard made her fall to her knees and the tears streamed from her face.

“I hope you like that song Aunt Emma because it’s one of my favorites,” said Sally to nobody in particular on the lawn.  “Why are there so many of you Aunt Emma?” Sally continued.

Jean realized it was the fairies to whom Sally was speaking.  

“There were so many things we had in common like the songs we would sing together, the stories we would tell, the tickles you would surprise me with and the desserts you would sneak to me when mommy and daddy weren’t looking.”

“Aunt Emma, are all these fairies all of the great memories I have of you?” Sally whispered further.

At that moment, the four fairies flew into formation together and landed upon Sally.  One on her hand, which Aunt Emma would always hold during their conversations; one on her head, which Aunt Emma would always kiss at hello and goodbye; the third on her nose, which Aunt Emma loved to watch twitch when Sally would laugh; and the last one on her chest near her heart, which Aunt Emma always knew was the real reason they had a true bond and loving connection.

“When will you sing to me again Aunt Emma?”

There will come a day, soon for that matter, when the skies turn grey, the north winds shuttle cold Canadian air into town and the fairies will retreat to the warmth of their hideaway for the winter.  For Sally, though, her love and memories of Aunt Emma will never hibernate, not for the winter, not for extended periods of time, nor for as long as she lives.

The fairies will once again return, just like the happy memories that flood back into Sally’s mind each night when she gazes upon the photo on her wall and says goodnight to her favorite fairy princess.