Aug 11 2008
Funeral for a Flower {part 1}
A few years ago I was so miserable I hired a life coach to help me figure it all out. Part of my personal healing process was to write about things…mostly about my family of origin. You see, I loved and cared about them so much I hated them. And it hurt. Deeply. But, the writing helped and so I thought I would share some of it with you. Here’s a piece of me I wrote in April 2006:
It was spring of 1979 and the trees lining the street to Grandma’s house were in full bloom. It was a worn out street with cracked pavement and drooping houses. But, the trees were young and decorated with pretty pink blossoms. As we drove down Mae Avenue in our Ford Pinto I had a brilliant idea.
“Mom, will you walk with me back to the trees so that I can pick a pretty flower for Grandma?” I asked in anticipation glancing at my sisters to see their reaction.
“Oh, I don’t know. We said we would be there at four and it’s already a quarter past the hour,” she replied.
“Please, Mom. I just know she will love it. Puhleeeaaassseee!” I begged.
“Well, okay. But you have to promise to hurry.”
“Yes!” I said to myself as we pulled up to Grandma’s small white house. I jumped out of the backseat and took off running down the street to the closest flowering tree.
“Darn,” I mumbled when I got there because I couldn’t reach the lowest branch. Now I had to wait for Mom and she takes forever. I stretched my body as tall as I could and jumped up and down, but I was still too small.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Hurry up, Mom!”
“I’m coming. I’m coming. Hold your horses,” she replied shuffling up to me.
“I can’t reach. Pick me up so that I can grab one.” I wiggled and squirmed in anticipation.
“Okay, okay. Here you go.” I climbed into Mom’s arms and grabbed the closest branch. I pulled, but the branch wouldn’t budge. “It’s stuck, Mommy. It won’t come off.” I yanked and twisted with no success.
“Here let me try, Honey,” Mom said while pulling me away from the tree.
“No wait! One more try,” I pleaded as I lunged for a branch and pulled with all my might. I thought for sure I would succeed this time, but my five-year-old fingers slipped and my elbow snapped right into Mom’s shoulder.
“Ugh!” she yelped in shock.
“Oh, I’m sorry Mommy. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said petting her wounded shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she replied setting me down.
“We better get going,” she mumbled as she twisted the end of a branch off with little effort. “Here you go. Here’s your blossom.”
She handed me the branch of pink petals and I cradled it like a baby in my tiny hands. “Grandma’s going to be so happy when I give her my present.” I skipped back down the street to keep up with Mom’s fast pace.
