Flourish and Grow

Marigolds had been her favorite. She had taught me to plant them between the garden plants so the bees and butterflies would come and help everything flourish brightly and grow.

I had seen her for what felt like a lifetime ago but it was only a few weeks. Driving two hours north had given me time to think about things. Like why was I going and what would I say.

When I arrived she had yet to arrive home from her dialysis treatment. She never wanted anyone to see her on those days. She never wanted anyone to see how frail she looked. How her skin became almost translucent. How the once most lively and vibrant person I once knew turned into a ghost of who she once was. Yet her eyes still held her passion, her fire, all that she once was and forever would be in my mind.

When they called to say that they were taking her off life support I went to the one place that was my safe haven, my restaurant The Escape. Being there allowed me to feel what was happening and remember what was.

Growing up limitations had been set on what I could do and who I was supposed to be. But during the summer for a few short weeks I was allowed to be bold and brave. I was allowed to be me. I flourished and grew just like the marigolds. When I went homeI was cut down and placed into the confines of a vase that others saw fit.

While the flower of the marigold is edible, some taste better than others, she taught me that. She showed me how fresh was best and that cooking not only took time but it was an act of love to those you fed. From a very young age she not only showed me how to prepare and cook all types of food. She taught me how to chop, bake and saute. How I should only ever flip anything once. How to use every sense to know when something was done. She always allowed me to try different things, mixing flavors that no one had thought to do in the family. We would always laugh when something did not turn out, because now we knew better.

Getting the call that she had taken her final breath, I had to drive. I had to just go, not being held in one place. I needed to be free like she was now. I have no idea how long I drove. How long I kept the tears bottled up.

Without my consent when I saw the field filled with marigolds pulling over I began to sob. Is it strange that I did not cry about both my grandmothers passing? Or the one grandfather that I knew and loved because he instilled to me how beautiful the balance of nature is? Was it because she allowed me to be me, to be free? Was it because she was the only person in my family who saw all of me and still loved me anyways?

Memories circled through my mind as I stared out at the field. I don’t ask why. I don’t plead for her return. I simply sat counting the rows of marigolds as far as my eyes could see until the sun slipped into darkness.

That all happened three weeks ago. Now I stand in a room full of family and strangers saying good-bye to someone, everyone in the world should have known. Taking in everyone around me as they say their good-byes I smile softly.

After I had visited I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to say more. I wrote her a letter. I told her how going up there to her house was my safe place during my youth. How her loving me for who I was instead of what was expected from me was the kind of love that I would carry with me as long as air filled my lungs. Addressing it to Fire Dog and signing it Water Pig was by no means code. It was our Chinese astrology signs and ever since we found out what they were they became our terms of endearment. I will never know if she read the letter or fully understood how much love I had for her. Yet, looking around at those who could no longer tell her I was glad that I did.

Her funeral was done by her children, my cousins. It was everything that was expected in the religion I had once called my own. After all was said and done her casket was brought to the exit area since she was begin cremated. It was our final chance to say good-bye. Everyone touched the casket placing a rose or lily on the top. I was the last to place my hand on the cool wooden surface. I did not say good-bye though. I told her I was not going to say it because good-bye made it final. And that as long as I could remember her she would never truly be gone.

I walked away from the casket ready for the drive home. I feel a hand touch my arm. It’s one of her sons. Handing me a small silk purse as he smiles softly, “Mom always thought very highly of you. She said that you were a special kind of soul. I got these for her a few years ago. I thought that you should have something of hers.” “Thank you.” Taking the small purse I open it to see a pair of green earrings with owls on them. Hugging him I have to smile. I begin to turn and he touches my arm again, “I have to ask, why a marigold?” “The fiery red, orange and yellow colors. They remind me of light, joy, optimism and happiness. They remind me of her.” I watch his eyes mist over as he nods while I walk away.

Rolling down the windows as the summer wind blows against the bare skin of my arm. I look over to the passenger seat smiling as a bouquet of marigolds. They were from her garden and in the spring they would flourish and grow in mine.