A Flower In Auschwitz

It’s hard to find beauty in Auschwitz.  There is plenty of fear, pain, and hunger.  But there is beauty.  It’s in the face of family members who found each other after thinking the other was dead.  There’s joy in a child’s face who gets to stay with his mother.  The most beautiful thing was a daisy.



This daisy wasn’t a normal daisy.  It grew out of nothing right in the middle of the role call area.  People would stand for hours upon hours, holding each other up.  Some how this little daisy was stronger than any Nazi could have ever been.



Then there was the boy.  The boy was fifteen and was living through a hell that six million others lived through.  Long ago his father left the family, nobody knew where to.  His mother had arthritis in her legs and hips.  He also had two beautiful sisters.  Bright golden hair with deep blue eyes.  When they arrived at Auschwitz there was two lines.  It was unfortunate that his mother was obviously of little use to anyone.  She couldn’t dig holes, she couldn’t fold laundry; most of her days were spent sitting in her wheel chair remembering when she would dance or run with her children.  She suffered a great depression.  His Mother and sisters were put in the right line.  They did not know what that meant.  Not for at least a few hours.  They were told that it was for the sick and infirm and girls under sixteen.  At first they were told that they’d be going to a beautiful camp where the elderly would help take care of the little ones.  The ones too young or too old to be of any use.  They were promised green grass, huge trees to rest under.  Everyone would have their own  beds and be fed well.  They inspired so much hope! 



The Mother and sisters were stripped and given showers.  They finally understood what was happening.  They were going to the showers, which were actually gas.  There were about fifty women in the showers crying and screaming and begging for life.  The Nazi’s had hearts of stone and turned the switch and killed all the women and children.  The Nazis forced stronger prisoners to drag the bodies out and put them in a huge pile in an incinerator.  Then the bodies would be burned.  It rained a horrid ash.  People knew this would be the last time they touched their loved ones.  A sad way to say good-bye, but the only they were offered.



The boy was assigned a bunkroom with fifteen other men.  His grandfather, who started the journey robust and even youthful; he had a childlike laugh and was often playing pranks on his family.  By six months later the men were thin and were easily able to sleep three or even four men to a bed.  The beds were just wooden slats and would cut into the men’s skin and leave festering wounds.  Pain was a big part of life in the camps.  The men would whisper into the night.  They’d remember their wives, long since gone.  They’d laugh about things from their childhood.  They’d brag about the high profile jobs they had on the other side.  They would hold each other and cry because that was the only thing they felt the could do now.



Six months passed and spring arrived.  The boy was out walking.  Mostly he was sneaking around, which was easier than one may think.  Thousands of people were at the camp. One day he found the flower.  He fell in love with it.  He would take his meager soup and quietly water the flower.  The flower slowly grew stronger and so did the boy.  The boy marveled at how the flower wasn’t trampled to death in the long hours of role call.  It was almost as if the flower existed just for him.  The boy cherished that flower.  It gave him hope.  It reminded him he could find love and beauty even in a world that induced constant pain and sorrow.



Since stumbling upon the flower, the boy grew strong.  He was no longer a twig or a shadow of his former self.  He had a happy gleam in his gray eyes.  His skin turned pink like a newborn.  He was doing so well, in fact, he started to give his grandfather who was fading fast his soup and bread.  He only took enough to feed his flower. 



One day at role call the Nazis went through the lines one by one.  They were searching for sick and weak men.  Unfortunately the boy’s grandfather was chosen to go to the showers.  By now, every one knew about the showers and what they were for.



So now, the boy is without any family and few friends.  He fell into a deep depression.  He still loved his flower.  It somehow survived thousands of people stomping on it every day, several times a day.



Spring turned into summer and the days went by just like they did every day.  The boy kept growing stronger with the help of the flower.  The boy dug holes for the Jews to use as toilets.  A most degrading practice.  He also worked in the gardens that fed the Nazis.  Somehow the boy survived off the rancid soup and so did the flower.



Still time went on and fall arrived.  It was a very cold time.  The boy though, still strong.  Winter came and snow buried that little flower and killed it.  Suddenly the boy changed almost over night.  His skin barely stretched over his bones.  His skin turned gray and transparent.  Teeth started to fall out.  Hair was left wherever he laid his head.  The other men tried hard to bring him back to health.  They went looking for that little flower and couldn’t find any trace of where it was.  To them, it seemed impossible for a flower to survive that long.



One day our story ends.  Or at least, almost.  On a day with role calls going on for over ten hours the boy collapsed.  A guard saw this.  The boy was dragged away off to the showers.  The men who shared his bunk howled with pain and anguish.  They were used to death and pain but this boy was special.  He survived so long.  He was strong one day, the very next, on death’s bed. 



The men went back to the bunks holding back tears that eventually flowed like fountains.  They couldn’t understand why the boy got so ill so quickly.  The boy knew, before he died, that that flower kept him alive.  This proves love keeps you alive and you can die of a broken heart.  When the flower died, sadly, so did the boy.



As winter turned back into spring a miracle happened.  Too late for the boy though.  A girl of about seventeen found an odd thing.  A small daisy poking up through the remainder of the snow.  She took care of the flower all year long. She marveled at how she grew stronger and was able to take on the daily abuse with out one tear.  Seems that flower saved her too.



Finally one day soldiers came and rescued the Jews!  It was a grand day.  It was a day of happiness but also sadness for all those who left before.  It took years to repair all the damage the Germans did do those poor people. 



But the flower, you must want to know?  A turn out the girl’s name was Annie.  She lost her entire family.  She lost her parents, five little sisters and brothers and much extended family.  One thing she kept though, forever after that, was that flower.  She plucked it from the ground; took it to her new home and pressed it firmly in a book.  She then framed it.  Every time she looked at the flower she’s allow one tear to be shed.  Then she smiled because she knew that flower saved her life.