True Bloom

Open it when times are tough.

Her mother had pressed the locket into her hand as she spoke, wheezing, lips tinged blue. Savannah had looked on with blurry eyes as her mother gave a feeble squeeze of their clasped hands, the corner of her mother's lip twitching as she made one last attempt to smile.

What's inside is what's kept me going.

Her mother, who remembered when people would live in one place and work in another, driving everyday between the two. Able to buy whatever food they desired from a singular store. Exotic things like fish from the ocean when you lived in the middle of the continent, fruit from the tropics, even meals that were made hot and fresh for people to pick up for their families.

Her mother, who saw it all collapse.

Who gave birth to Savannah in a world of change and uncertainty. Who lost her husband not a year after that to someone angry and afraid, who lost her parents and brother in a hurricane when Savannah was only five.

Who would pick Savannah up and keep on moving.

I love you.

Her mother's last words as her own body betrayed her, suffocating her to death when the triage camp that could have saved her life was visible just down in the valley.

Savannah had sobbed, pressing her mother's hand to her forehead even as her mask muffled the strength of her grief.

---

Savannah focused on her breathing. Strong, deep inhales. Heavy, measured exhales. She could not afford tears obscuring her vision as she steered the van through the crumbling hairpin turns of this mountain road.

But then her eyes would stray to the backseat, to her mother oh-so-carefully rolled in her favorite blanket and buckled to the bench with all three seatbelts, and her throat would close, breath stuttering before she could swallow, blinking furiously as she reasserted her focus on the road. Driving off a mountain in her grief would not be what her mother would want for her.

---

She rolled slowly up to the camp, coming to a stop and stepping cautiously out before she's greeted by a middle-aged woman. The woman walked with intent, eyes searching Savannah's tear-streaked face as she approached. Her blue, medical grade mask and brown hair piled messily on the top of her head framed a forehead creased deep with worry lines.

"Are you in need of medical assistance?" the woman asked, stopping an appropriate distance away.

Savannah could only shake her head for a moment, not quite sure what to say. She only came here because she didn't know where else to go. "I--my mother--she didn't make it," she finally choked out, face heating and uncertain if she was embarrassed at her inability to function or just plain overwhelmed by today.

The woman followed her unconsciously given glance towards the backseat, spying the human-shaped blanket secured there. Her voice reformed into practiced, yet genuine sympathy, "Oh honey, I'm so sorry. Do you want a burial for her?"

Savannah could only nod jerkily. Overwhelmed. She's definitely overwhelmed.

---

The cemetery was a patchwork of flowers, not a gravestone in site. The man in charge--introduced to her as Nathan--carried her mother's body reverently through the field. As they walked, the flowers became younger, separating into individual sections. Then the sprouts became just mounds of dirt, then finally, open graves.

"Would you like her buried in the blanket?" Nathan asked softly as they approached what would be her mother's final resting place. It'd be a waste, and they both know it, but she said yes anyways, unable to face seeing how frail and lifeless her mother was now.