Dolls, flowers and sibling powers

He was merely three-and-a-half years when it happened. Forty-two months old and growing all the time. Annie, on the other hand, was older — by a whole year — but who would ever guess? For Annie had not grown a single centimetre since he had set eyes on her.

Annie, of course, couldn't possibly grow because she was a doll. Lachlan, the youngster, however, was a real flesh-and-bone boy. And Annie, whose four-year-old head he had just snapped off, belonged to Lachlan's sister, Kylie. He was still holding the two separate sections in his bewildered hands when five-year-old Kylie walked in.

The scream of horror she let out startled him so much he ended up crying far longer than his sister. It's possible he knew at that point that he'd done something wrong. Something that upset his sister greatly. He'd never, in his young life, seen her this way.

While he wept Kylie — who'd snatched the doll out of his hands — tried her best to fix the head back on. Her best efforts were in vain. She buried her face in her hands, no longer crying, but possibly trying to contemplate life without Annie, the doll she loved best, the one she took to bed with her.

She only raised her head again when she felt a hand on her shoulder. A tender hand. Her distressed eyes met those of her little brother's and although he couldn't as yet articulate things clearly she knew from the touch of his hand and the look on his face that he was deeply sorry for whatever he'd done. She enfolded him in a huge hug and held him like that for a long time.

Minutes later she was to be seen out in the spacious front yard, a little girl's wicker basket by her side, industriously plucking the wild yellow spring flowers that had sprung up all across the lawn. Soon the basket was a mass of gold and green. When Kylie was satisfied she had plucked enough she took her collection indoors and, patiently, bound them together until she had the semblance of a child's bouquet.

The remaining flowers — for she had plucked far too many — she put in a bottle with water. These she took into ‘their' room, for she shared a room with her little brother. She put the ‘bouquet' on Lachlan's pillow and the bottle of yellow blooms on the table between her bed and his (with the protective sides so he wouldn't roll and fall out.)

In the life of two tiny children, this was an important incident. The entire action was watched by their mother who, out of wisdom or instinct, stayed out of it, while the two young ones found their own child-like way of resolving the issue.

It was April 5. A date of no significance. It wasn't anybody's birthday. It wasn't an anniversary. It was just the day Annie died and — somehow — that accidental act instead of distancing two individuals created a bond stronger than steel. Twenty-two years on, Lachlan is 25 going on 26. He is eventually getting married. When it came to choosing a date, he had no hesitation. April 5, he said.

Some would wonder why.

Lachlan would be able to supply the answer: April 5 was a day of flowers, and, incredibly, a day of great joy. For, every year after the Annie incident, his sister Kylie made sure she plucked a big bunch of — at first, wild yellow flowers, but later more cultivated blooms — and presented them to her brother.

It seems, said their mother, it was a little girl's way of saying, "Maybe I've lost my favourite doll, but I've found my little brother. A friend for life". Maybe young Lachlan's tears touched her. As she says, no two siblings could be more close or more supportive.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.