This grieving must come to an end.

The warm sun, with its bright gentle rays, casts its glory upon my pale, sullen skin.

It reminds me of when I was happy with her—_stop, Iris_, I tell myself.

I revert my focus back on the calm morning, with a small breeze tickling my hair and the slight scent of wild roses growing from Mother’s garden—_Iris, don’t even think_—

I miss her.

I miss Mother.

I miss when life was simpler with her.

I seat myself on the bench near her garden, and I watch the full, beautiful irises.

“I named you after the most beautiful flower I had in my garden, for the most beautiful girl in my world,” Mother had said.

My eyes glance at the dead petals beneath, and my thoughts of her again strike.

When will this pain end?

Will every small, minuscule thing remind me of her?

I cannot forever be stuck in this dread!

“Just come back…” I wished in the quiet garden. “Just come back and heal this wound.”

A choir of birds suddenly interrupted as the wind blew slightly harsher.

Clouds covered the sun and the temperature dropped a bit.

Suddenly, a small robin flew in the bird bath in front of me, spreading her wings to wash. She looked at me with a sense of knowing, knowing who I was. She flew her heavy wings, wet with water, to the ground near the irises, and looked at me with her blinking eyes.

Tears blurred the image of the small bird as I knew the sign to be from Mother.

“If you ever see a robin, Iris, it’s a sign to start a new beginning…” Mother once said.

“I will,” I now responded. “I will pull myself out of the dread, for you.”

You cannot always stop grieving, but you can stop the grief from taking over your life.