Late last fall when the weather was going to cool off a bit, and our plants had dried up, Tom and I were going to redo a flower bed. It is near the driveway where the kids skate board and play basketball so it needed cleaned up and made pretty. Then we were going to plant some strong and sturdy lilies. (Lilies can make it through anything, right?)
Well, God had other plans for Tom and apparently the lily bed wasn’t a priority for Him.
Needless to say, our Fall *fell* apart and the flower bed got put off. I didn’t care if it ever got done. Friends and family had offered to help me with it. But I was blind and deaf to everything but my kids. And sometimes even to them. Also, I didn’t want help with something that Tom was supposed to do with me. I didn’t want anyone else to “contaminate” our project with their own ideas or their sympathy or their sad eyes or their inspirational words.(I know- I sound terrible.)
Early this summer, I had the energy to not only think about it, but to actually get out my garden gloves and my shovel. I thought I would take baby steps. Maybe getting the gloves and shovel out and putting them near the flower bed would be all I got done. That would be fine. That would be a good start. But, I started digging, and weeding, and transplanting. Then I removed the rock border and replaced it in a prettier way. THEN, I put solar lights around it. I was inspired and I was really doing well.
Tom got this concrete Buddhist castle yard ornament that he had put in that bed and I repositioned it with a spotlight. It looks so pretty at night.
I did a good job. Any other time in my twenty seven years of life with Tom, I NEVER would’ve treated myself like a child like this and actually said, “I did a good job!” But, also, Tom and I would’ve done it together and we would’ve stood back admired our hard work and said, “Hey, we should be proud! We did pretty good, didn’t we?” I have conversations with myself now, because words have to be said. I’ve had someone to talk to for all those years and I still need to talk. My words and thoughts don’t shut off just because he’s not here to listen anymore.
I only got teary once. As I was digging, I dug up some toy soldiers and some matchbox cars.
In the past when we unexpectedly dug up the kids’ old toys from where they used to play, we’d look at each other for a fraction of a second. We’d exchange a sweet sad smile.
The sweet sad smile would convey- “Oh my gosh- where has the time gone?- weren’t they just little kids playing under this tree yesterday?- Mags with her mermaids-Alex with his cars- with the garden hose- making an ocean for her and a mud pit for him- right here-yesterday?” All of those words in one single, multifaceted expression.
We would’ve exchanged the look, understanding, but kept digging, weeding and transplanting. We would look across the lawn at our now big kids doing big kid things, wondering, really, where had time gone?
Now, I’m finished with the flower bed, the kids are hanging out in the driveway near me. I step back and admire our hard work, and I whisper up to Tom, “Hey, we should be proud! We did pretty good, didn’t we?” I don’t say it about the flower bed, though, I say it about our kids. They’re so good. They are so strong and sturdy even with everything they’ve been through. Just like lillies.
I left the army men and cars there and planted lillies on top of them. That way in the years to come as I’m weeding and replanting, I’ll be reminded of all the sweet memories, and I’ll ask myself, “where has the time gone?”
