The day I left California, Boodles gave me a bunch of little flowers that she picked from the garden. Now these weren’t her mama’s roses, they were some little wildflowers that grew on the side of the lawn at her house. Some of them might have been weeds for all I know, but I let her know how much I cherished them. I put them in an empty Starbucks cup that was in my Industrial Assault Vehicle and carried them with me on my trip across the country.
I knew that they would be dead by the time I got here, but my plan was to put them in the flower garden outside my window here at my mom’s house so that they would feed the flowers there. Sentimental, I know, but it was kind of a way that I could have a part of her with me.
So by the time I made the trip and got the IAV unloaded, it had been at least a week that they had been in that cup in my car. I showed them to Mom and told her what I was going to do, and surprisingly one of them was still alive. Mom put it in a little pot and set it up in her kitchen’s windowsill.
And there it still sits, enjoying the view, the sun, and the care. It reminds me daily of the promise I have made to myself that I would take it back with me to California and Boodles, but when?
I originally thought that I would be here for a few months. Months have come and gone and now it’s been almost a year. At times my progress – my healing – seems so slow that I wonder if I’ve made any progress at all.
A couple of days ago I was mowing the lawns (Mom’s and my sister and brother-in-law’s – they live next door to each other) and I realized something. When I first got here I was hardly able to get halfway done with one of the lawns without having to stop and rest. I can now mow both lawns without stopping. I had almost forgotten this, but Mom reminds me that when I first got here I routinely slept most of the morning and often well into the afternoon. I have also been able to get up, go to work, and keep a job for several months as well.
So I realize that I have gotten stronger; physical, mentally, maybe even spiritually. Like the flower (or weed) on the windowsill, I am still alive and growing…slowly, but growing.