Flowers Make the World Go Round

I used to love flowers.

Every spring I would anxiously await the first crocus as it poked its little head out of the soil and stretch its narrow green arms toward the sun. Soon after, the fragrant hyacinths would bloom with their prolific bell-shaped blossoms.  The daffodils were next in line; their curious bright yellow heads following the path of the sunshine all day long, like dignified ladies who watch you pass and nod at your greeting. As they reached their peak, the tulips would start preparing to make their entrance. Leaves would appear on the rose bushes, the iris would begin to swell as buds formed within, and the lacey poppy foliage would sprout out promising an amazing display of tissue-paper-thin red-orange petals later in the season. It wouldn't be long before the moon flower began to sprout. When the bleeding hearts burst with their delicate heart-shaped ornaments it was time to start hundreds of seedlings to keep my yard filled with color all through the summer and fall.

Now, though, I had no desire. For a while they still came up faithfully as they always had and people still stopped in the street to admire them, but it didn't matter anymore. As the daffodils hung their heads in the breeze, I hung mine, too. The love of my life was gone and what did I have left? The flowers? They only served as a painful reminder. They had for so long been my joy and friends but that morning at the cemetery, draped across his coffin, the rainbow of colors that had always cheered me now betrayed me. My world had come to a grinding halt. How could the flowers go on blooming when the sunshine of my life no longer shown upon them? How could they so arrogantly sport their bright spring colors as the cool misty showers bathed my beloved's grave with tears? Yes, my world had stopped spinning and my heart was left behind to endure the eternal darkness of the night.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The changing colors of the seasons went on as they always had despite my sorrow. From the crocus to the moon flowers, they all went right on as if nothing had happened. The months dragged on and the bright colors of summer began to fade, replaced by mounds of gold and rust-colored mums. It would soon be time to bed down the gardens for the winter. But I had no desire to do any of it.

As the leaves began to fall, my children offered to come and help me clean up the yard but I didn't want them to. My love was gone and with him, my reason for doing all of the things I used to do. I was still numb, still in shock. My world had stopped turning and unless there was a secret switch somewhere, I didn't know how to start it up again. My children had their own lives and responsibilities; they didn't need to be worrying about me.

Early one Saturday morning I awoke to voices in the garden. My three children and their spouses were cleaning up my yard! "What are you all doing out there?" I called out, pulling my housecoat around me and rushing out the back door. They all smiled and continued to work. Back inside, I started a pot of tea and hurried to dress.

A huge vase of flowers stood on the table when I returned. They had cut the remaining mums, roses, and daisies and arranged them for my table. I glanced at them briefly and began to turn away sadly when a piece of paper under the vase caught my eye:

         "Dear Mom," Chad's distinctive handwriting scrawled out across the page:

         "We know you'll say we don't have to do this but we want to.

         "It hurts to see you grieving so, turning your back on all of the beautiful things that once brought you so much joy. You'd grow the flowers and Dad took beautiful photos of them. We've all talked about this. From the time your children were small they remember you gardening. Your gardening is like a legacy.

         "Do you remember that photo contest Heather won when she was sixteen? She called her work "Mommy's hands" and her series of pictures showed your hands doing various tasks, but the main focus was your hands covered with garden soil, the flowers providing a colorful contrasting background.

         "Then there's the art contest Fallon won in second grade. Her drawing was a close up of worms crawling across a garden shovel... so typical of Fallon... but you were in the background, gardening.

         "And what about Nan's essay that was published in the writer's magazine last year? He talked about all of the things that reminded him of his childhood, but first and foremost were the flowers.  "Mom's garden was like our own little world, and as young children, we could get lost in it, playing for hours among the fragrant blooms without a care in the world."

         "Surely you remember our weddings... how you planted Heather's favorite: peacock orchids, in your garden the year Heather and I met because somehow you knew I was the one for her. You wanted her to have a fresh crop for her wedding bouquet. Then there were the bright caladiums and calla lilies for Fallon and all those little pots of pansies for her reception? I still have the rosebud boutonniere you made for Nan's wedding. Alicia's gladiola and rosebud bouquet:  stunning.  Was that just a dream?

         "Mom, I know you feel like your world has stopped going around since Dad's passing. We all miss him terribly. You are still here, but we miss you, too! Your flowers have always been a part of our lives. They have been a constant source of enjoyment for all of us. Flowers make the world go round, Mom, at least yours do that for us. We may have our own lives, but we still need you and we are always here for you.

         "With all our hearts,
         The Kids"

Tears splashed on the table and I wiped them away with my sleeve. Somehow I knew what I had to do. I placed seven cups on the tray with the pot of tea and, for the first time since my husband's death, I embraced the bouquet of flowers in both hands and breathed deeply of their fragrance. I chose the sweetest rose from the bunch: a half-opened peachy-yellow Peace rose, put it into the eighth matching cup, and placed it on the tray with the others. Remembering the words of the letter I took the tray out on the deck to join my children.

"Flowers make the world go round, Mom..."

My world was spinning again.