The Oak Door

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Lilly stands staring at the great oak door. She loved this old wooden door. She loved the coolness of the oak against her fingertips, the smoothness of the dark varnish, and the deep swirls which decorated its surface. She would sit and stare, wondering what magic lay beneath its old beautiful carvings. But today she isn’t staring at its beauty. No, she is trying to stare right through it. She hopes if she stares hard enough, long enough, she’ll be able to see past the solid oak to the other side. Except Lilly is older now, she’s almost seven, and so she knows that this will never happen. She prays all the time that the room beyond the door will be the way it used to be. But she knows deep down that it can’t be. She knows the room will be as dark and as musty as the day before. She takes a deep breath, places both hands on the heavy wood and pushes.

The door swings open and Lilly enters. She stares at the huge bed, which sits in the middle of the darkened room. The sheer size of it frightens her and Lilly is often scared of being lost in the huge squishy mattress. She’s certain if she vanished within it, she’d never be found. Recently her fear of it has grown. She worries every morning, as she steps in to the room, that her mother has disappeared into the gaping mouth of the bed especially now she’s so thin and gaunt.

She peers carefully around the door, and whilst standing on her tippy toes she breathes a sigh of relief as she makes out the small bump of her mum’s body. She climbs carefully onto the large bed and crawls towards her, listening for any signs of life. There is the faint sound of breathing. Relieved she places her arm on her mother’s side and shakes her gently. She stirs from her sleep and looks accusingly at Lilly as if she has been taken from a wondrous place.

‘Mum, it’s time to take the pink ones,’ Lilly whispers.

Her mum struggles to sit upright and Lilly helps her by adjusting the pillows. She clambers from the bed and fetches a glass of water from the bathroom. She sips it checking that the water is not too cold or too warm and she runs into the dim room picking up the box, which contains the pink pills. Climbing back onto the bed, she carefully pops two out and hands them to her mother. She places the glass of water carefully to her mother’s lips and slowly pulls the glass away. Her mum used to be able to pop the pills out herself, she used to be able to hold the glass of water as she drank, and she used to prop herself up against the pillows but this week Lilly has had to help with these tasks.

Each day Lilly grows more and more frightened of the room. Each day it seems to grow darker and mustier. Life evaporates from it. At first the changes were small and insignificant. It started with the boxes of pills, which seemed to grow from the bedside table. At first it was one box of funny looking tablets and then another appeared and another until finally there was no room for the beautifully, perfumed roses which always sat beside her mother’s bed.

Once the flowers were gone, the changes the room undertook were drastic. The wardrobe was stripped bare of the soft, vivacious dresses her mother wore and refilled with bland pyjamas and dressing gowns. The window, which used to let a soothing breeze into the warm room, was shut tight so her mother wouldn’t catch a cold, and the massive cream curtains which were always open, were now always closed. The bedroom had taken on the aura of the unwell.

The room was much brighter than Lilly’s until her mother grew tired and needed the curtains to be drawn. Until then there had always been flowers. But as the light was banished from the room, sadness began to seep in. And the fun Lilly once had with her mum disappeared along with the sunlight, the roses and the music. She missed her mother’s singing. She missed her mother waking her with a soft shake and a small kiss to the forehead. It was now she who woke her mother, who made her breakfast and who tried so hard to make her happy. Lilly didn’t mind so much. She liked helping. Only… she wished she could still sing and dance and play. But she couldn’t play anywhere in the house any more in case she made too much noise. She used to love playing especially in her mother’s bedroom. It was much larger than Lilly’s and smelled fresher. There were many more things to explore, like the large wardrobe that used to go on forever. It was filled with so many interesting objects. There were hats and bags and of course the old mahogany trunk, full of photographs. Lilly didn’t recognise any of the photographed ladies and gentlemen but there was something familiar about their faces.

Lilly feels her mother move and realises she’s struggling to sit upright in bed. She places the glass of water on the bedside table and tries to help her.

‘Lil, we need to talk about a few things.’

Lilly, realising that everything is okay for now, carefully clambers across the bed.

‘Oh Lilly, you are growing so fast. You must be at least two inches taller than you were last month.’

It was unusual for her mum to notice such things anymore.

‘I need you to do me a favour. I need you to open the wardrobe and fetch the big trunk. Now it will be heavy…’ she struggles to take a breath. Even talking tires her out. She breathes deeply and continues, ‘so be careful not to hurt yourself.’

Lilly wonders what is so important about the trunk. It was just filled with old photos. She jumps from the bed and walks around to the large wardrobe. She slides the door open and climbs underneath the rack of soft nightgowns. She finds the large trunk at the very back. She carefully pulls it out and lifts it up. It is very heavy but eventually she manages to place it upon the bed and she climbs up next to it.

‘Lilly, I need you to listen to me very carefully. I have some very important things that I must tell you. You mustn’t get scared or upset. Okay?’

Lilly, unsure, nods her head once.

‘Good girl. In this trunk there are lots of pictures of people you’ve never met, but who are an important part of you. These photos remind us of this. They are snapshots of our past. And the past is so important Lilly. It shapes our future. It determines who we become. See this picture?’

Her mum picks up a black and white photo. The picture looks stained and yellowed. There is a young attractive woman sitting on a stool. She smiles slightly as if scared to look too happy. She reminds Lilly of the actresses in the old black and white movies that her mum used to watch.

‘This is your grandmother. My mother. She died when I was young.’

‘When you were my age?’ Lilly feels a pang of fear.

‘No I was quite a bit older than you. I miss her a lot, I think about her everyday. She once told me something that helped me deal with her absence. You see Lilly, memories can be like this old trunk of photographs. Whenever we feel unsure of ourselves or we miss someone a great deal we can look through the photos and remember things that we once did and conversations that we once had with people who are no longer here.’ She struggles to breathe and motions for her glass.

Lilly quickly hands it to her, hoping the water will help. Her breathing returns to normal, and she settles back against her pillow.

‘There will be times in your life when you will be alone; the secret is to never be lonely. And you will never be lonely if you have a way to remember the women who have came before you. Now I want you to listen very carefully as this is important.’ Her mother reaches up and touches Lilly’s face tenderly before continuing. ‘Close your eyes. That’s right keep them shut. I want you to picture this bedroom in your mind. The way it used to be. Can you see it? Can you see the bay windows framed with the cream curtains at either side? Can you see the pink roses in the white vase by the bed? How about my dressing table can you picture that too?’

Lilly nods.

‘Good. Now I want you to picture me. I want you to see me standing by the window. I’m singing to myself and I’m wearing a white dress. Do you see it? How do I look? Am I smiling?’

‘Yes, you’re smiling. You look very happy,’ Lilly’s voice wavers slightly, and she snuggles into her mother, trying to feel safe.

‘Good. Now when I’m no longer here and you feel alone, you must go to my room inside your head and you must picture it exactly as you see it now. I’ll always be there Lil, just waiting for you to come and speak to me. Whenever you need a hug or advice or even a place to hide, I’ll be there in the room in your mind. I have a room inside my mind. It’s your granny’s room and whenever I’m scared or sad I go to her old room and talk to her just as if she was here today. When I’m not here, I want you to close your eyes and visit me whenever you want.’

Lilly feels her face growing warm and a tear trickling down her cheek. She’s not sure why she’s crying so she carefully buries her head into her mum’s chest and whispers, ‘I understand.’

‘I want you to do one last thing for me. I want you to go down to the kitchen and get the sharp scissors from the drawer. Now be very careful. Then go out to the garden and carefully cut the daffodils. Come back in and get the vase from under the sink and fill it with water. Then bring it up here. Okay?’

Lilly sensing the urgency of the moment jumps down and runs quickly from the room. Her mind races as she follows her mother’s instructions. She tries hard to concentrate only on her actions, to concentrate only on selecting the prettiest of daffodils, and she tries so very hard to banish all thoughts of what awaits her in her mother’s room. And as she carefully cuts each stem with the sharp scissors, she hears the faint sound of her mother singing. For now the melody of her song forces all of her fears away.

As she returns with the flowers and vase in hand, the singing begins to fade. She looks at the great oak door once more with uncertainty and pushes it open. Her mother has propped herself against the headboard of the bed.

‘Great Lilly, place the vase on the table there. Now I want you to go over to the window and open those curtains.’

‘But Mum the light hurts your eyes.’

‘It’s okay I just want to be able to see the room as it used to be. Open the curtains and the window.’

Lilly struggles with the window latch but eventually she manages.

‘Okay Lil. Now get back up on the bed and look around.’

Lilly once more climbs on to the great bed, but this time she feels a shiver of excitement, and something else, something more familiar. Fear creeps into the room and into her heart. She crawls into her mother’s embrace. She wants to hold on tight, and never let go, but she’s scared she’ll hurt her mum’s tiny frame. So instead she gently places her head on her mother’s chest.

‘See the light drifting in the window, smell the freshly cut flowers, feel the soft breeze. This is the room in your mind. The place that I will always be whenever you need me.’

Lilly glances around, and the room is as it once was; safe and inviting. She had almost given up hope that it would look this way again.

Her mother closes her eyes. Her breathing begins to soften and Lilly nuzzles in close. She tries to stay awake, to be with her mother, to feel her warmth, to feel her love, and to enjoy her final embrace. But as her mother’s breath begins to falter, Lilly’s eyes begin to flutter and her mind begins to drift. She dreams of her mum and the black and white lady in the photograph. She dreams of all the women who have came before her and of all the women who will come after her. She dreams of a loving home where her mother and grandmother spend their days, talking and singing. And she dreams of her own daughter, out in the garden cutting daffodils. She dreams of her little girl’s childhood full of laughter, of her daughter’s adulthood full of love, and of the time when she will show her own daughters and granddaughters the mahogany trunk filled with old photos. And she dreams of the day when she will finally join her mother in the cream room with the solid oak door.