They were always on top row of his garden. Mammoth. The peeked through the hill when you came around the corner. We used to ride our bikes on the path and we you came up the path, there they were. I loved them. I loved seeing them. My dad would always take my picture with me standing by a flower.
When the situation with the "button" was in full throttle, one day, in church, Pastor Ed spoke about seeds. I love to garden. Love it. Never really acknowledged the seed. I was more focused on the flower.He spoke about the seed being hard and tough. But, as tough as it was, it had to break. It had to be buried beneath sunshine and water. The seed was planted underground and waited for sunshine and water to make it crack open the seed, literally break the seed and let the new growth sprout forward.
My daughter was with me that day in church. She held my hand during the sermon. I think she knew what was going to happen next.
I was as low as low could get. I was a broken as I could be. My family was broken. So was my son. Broken.
We left the church parking lot and bolted to my favorite Dollar General. I bought EVERY sunflower seed packet they at the Dollar General, any variety and 100 plastic cups. I got home, filled those cups with potting soil and put those seeds in the cups. And waited.
The wait seemed forever.
Walker took this picture. I became hopeful once again.
I planted sunflowers everywhere I could.
They smiled at me. They reminded me that broken things can yield beautiful things.
You just had to have hope.
And faith. And patience. And a Dollar General.
About a year ago, my friend got a promotion. A well deserved promotion. Some very loyal coworkers sent her a bouquet of sunflowers. They were lovely. She loved them. She showed them to me and asked me "do you think I can save the seeds?"
"Yes." But of course I took the opportunity to ask her for some seeds. She delivered the goods.
I planted them. They grew and they were amazing.
Over the Fourth of July weekend, the holiday weekend was greeted with a hurricane. It blew, rained, and howled. My sunflowers, my lovely sunflowers, from my friend's seeds, her sunflowers, got knocked over.
While I was lamenting over the sunflowers, she called me. "I just wanted to make sure that you are ok...I know it is bad your way."
"I am fine. I am just pissed. Your sunflowers got knocked over."
"My sunflowers?"
"yes, your seeds, remember?"
"You planted them?"
"Yes, I planted them, of course I planted them." "Let me send you a picture."
"Ok, are you crazy? You could lose your roof or have a tree fall down on your house and you are worried about sunflowers?"
Yep.
I did.
The next morning, I got up, and got the stalk back in the ground, secured it with a stake and sent her another picture. I was determined to keep these sunflowers, my friend's sunflowers, alive.
Today, I said "see you later" to her. She starts her big battle with cancer.
It kicked my heart. A couple of times. I love her. And when I look at "her" sunflowers, I just want to smile. I have already plucked the heads and stashed the seeds. About the time her battle is winding down, the flowers should bloom next year.
My dear friend Joyce, one of my favorite people in the world, called me last week. We only discussed zinnias, sunflowers, gourds and pumpkins. We are obsessed. She too has had a three year battle with being sick. She is blossoming.
Last year Joyce could not even drive, this year she is Mary Mary.
Even my dear friend Shelia, a cancer warrior, planted sunflowers this year.
At the corner of a major intersection where I live, they always plant flowers in the summer. This year, I noticed they plowed the field and resowed. I knew, as soon as they started sprouting...they had planted the biggest field of sunflowers.
This week, they bloomed. The field is amazing.
My dear friend Candida, who was the broken of broken, posted a picture of her young daughter in the sunflower field. I swear there was halo in the picture. And I was like "damn, why didn't I think to call a photographer?" I took my fiend's lead. Again, once was broken and now my friend has the strength of a giant redwood.
I took my kids, all three of them to the field. A little photo op session.
It was the first time, in over three and half years, that my kids have had their picture taken together.
They stood there surrounded by sunflowers. I didn't really want to watch. Surprise. I want a fabulous surprise.
As my kids posed for the photographer, I got a little misty eyed. It was little over three years ago that all the madness started. It was a little over three years ago that I sat in church and listened to Pastor Ed. It was a little over three years ago that I started planting sunflowers like a crazy lady.
It was less than six months ago that I even knew where my oldest son even was.
During all those months, I just kept hearing Pastor Ed, "you have to break through the seed after the dirt and darkness and rain. You break open the seed. You have to be broken to sprout. And in sprouting, you grow and you become something beautiful."
I held on to the words for over three years and a couple hundred sunflower seeds. I just paid a photographer to photograph ALL of my children in a sunflower field. My oldest son was there, straight, sober, handsome and on a path...not a road to success...a path. One step at a time. But he was there.
Everyone who has ever endured cancer has told me it was like having two lives, one before, one after. Just like sunflowers. You start as a whole seed, tough. And then, you have to be broken to start anew. New growth, new strength. And while you blossom, you gravitate toward positive energy and sun. The whole time, you are giving to others, bees, birds and all those who pass by and think you are the "happy flower."
I hope my friend holds on to Pastor Ed's words as she begins her fight. My friend Joyce did and now she has a garden of hope and beauty.
I cannot wait to see my friend next year and her a bouquet of her happy sunflowers. She will most likely be bald and perhaps a little tired but I know she will be smiling. I know she will be sprouting and blossoming.
I know if my family can blossom, after all the weeds that ended up in our garden, anyone can.
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