Creation Spirit

THANKS FOR THE YELLOW ROSES; A Collection of Short Stories. Copyright 2003 by James H. Young. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use–other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews without the written permission of the author.

The author’s intent is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest of emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author assumes no responsibility for your actions.

For written approval, contact:

dimitrios@creationspirit.net

My heart is pounding on the back of my shirt pocket, my eyes moist like the morning dew on the freshly spun earth fairies that blessed my walking meditation earlier this morning. Stirred by faint renderings of sadness, yet buoyed by its mixture with the heartfelt joy of relational healing, I am forever grateful in the memory of the past few days. Memories often do that to me in these times. Usually my heart opens like the Grand Canyon, embracing the light of yet another day at the seat of compassion. Today is no exception.

My three sons and two daughters are converging on their mother, Jackie, my ex-wife, for a four day weekend. Decades ago now Jackie and I spawned these five wonderful young people, complemented by seven grandchildren we are both proud of, separately and, I strongly suspect, together, as well–that is, if we ever gave ourselves the opportunity to join our feelings in this regard. Jackie was diagnosed with terminal cancer nearly three years ago and given no more than six months to live. She is so strong willed and so committed to her children and grandchildren that she won’t leave until she sees that they’re just as she thinks they ought to be. That time has just about arrived.

Jackie has some good days and some not so good. At this point, she is weak and has sporadic recollection of people and time, splicing pieces of her history here and there into a cinematic production that makes sense to perhaps only her. It doesn’t matter, really, who else understands. The only thing that does matter is that beyond all her pain and suffering she seems to be at peace with her family and herself–and most important–with her Maker. Grace appears to have taken over her life now.

I am a firm believer in miracles. Not just the spectacular, heroic kind most people call miracles, but more especially those that simply appear when we are really paying attention to life; it is those that regularly fill the air with angelic giftedness lately. Today is a case in point. I am heading to the NW Arkansas airport to pick up Alison, our older daughter, and Todd, twin to Dana Lynn, our youngest. On the way I stop to pick up a few vittles for home at a specialties market nearby. As I near the checkout counter I notice a large display of fresh flowers and stop to drink them in. I have a passion for flowers that turns me into a compulsive shopper: I can’t buy only a single plant or bouquet of flowers if my life depended on it. My deepest self says I should take Jackie some. I learned long ago to follow my intuition, so I begin to make a judgment as to which kind I should purchase. Just as suddenly as I was admonished to take flowers to Jackie, I am led to the bunches of effervescent roses. The variety of colors is breathtaking and choices abound. I particularly like the soft white ones, with a blush of pink on the underbelly. But this is not to be, for my intuition speaks loud and clear once again: “Take her the yellow ones.” I smile and pull out the best of those for Jackie and, true to myself, also take a bunch of the white ones for home. I pay my bill and head off to the airport.

Instead of heading directly to Fayetteville, Alison, Todd and I head to a nice place for lunch and talk about everything but the impending visit. It’s obvious by the deflection tactics they’re using that both Todd and Alison are uneasy about being in such painful space, seemingly watching in their mind’s eye the life bleed from their mother, bit by painful bit. All at once a suggestion, a question actually, blurts out of my mouth: “Your mother likes movies doesn’t she, Alison?” “Yes, she sure does,” she responds. “Well, I know she likes to laugh and I’ll bet she hasn’t done that in awhile. How about you all taking her to a funny movie, like My Big Fat Greek Wedding?” “I saw that, it was a howl,” Alison laughs, “a great idea, Dad.” We talk about how it might be better for her to spend her remaining time doing what she really enjoys. Watching a good movie might make her tired, but at least she’d get tired doing what she likes rather than from just sitting in bed thinking about her demise. We agree that it should be done and with that, we depart.

Upon arrival, Todd and Alison enter the front door without ringing the bell, as if it were home. I follow closely, but tentatively, for I have not been invited into Jackie and Bobbie’s house before. As we enter, Jackie spins her wheelchair around to greet them. Hugs and kisses of welcome fill the air. It does my heart good to see her looking so good. I haven’t’ seen Jackie in weeks, and she looks surprisingly healthy for all she’s been through. In the larger scope of things I just let life happen and follow Todd and Alison’s lead. Being a natural hugger, I wrap my arms around Jackie and she hugs me back as I plant a kiss on her cheek. As we part, I hand her the roses. “Are these from you?” she asks excitedly. “Yep,” I respond, not knowing what would come next. “Oh, Jim,” she beams, “you remembered! Yellow roses are my favorite!” Holding her heart in mine, I feel her pain of our past shift dramatically. Tears form into tributaries as we both release to the grace of new beginnings, and she initiates, for the very first time in over 17 years, “Jim, why don’t you sit for awhile? The kids are all here and it would be nice if you could.” I don’t even have to think about my answer. Feeling the joy in the glow of the moment, I hear myself say something foolish like, “Well, all right then,” and unfold myself into a nearby chair to watch the rest of this homemade drama.

Just the other day, Jackie told Mark, our second oldest and Jackie’s self-designated caretaker for over 15 months now, that she had a dream about her and Jesus. Jesus had her try on shoes and after exhausting the supply, He told her that she had very narrow feet and He would have to go find just the right shoes for her. He’d return with them in short order, He affirmed, and the dream ended. And just a night or two from now she’ll be telling her family gathering around the supper table how pleased she is that they are all there together, that she loves them to no end, that they mean everything to her. Then she’ll say something like, “Well, I’m leaving soon, very soon, so if any of you have anything you want to say to me in private, you’d better do it while you’re here, because you won’t get another chance.”

This anecdote helps me know how much courage this woman really has–by this time she’s made of courage, actually. And it makes her live in her private truth now. I suspect that everyone was awakened to their own in this moment of the new reality.

Times are pretty tense and sadness fills the air. Throughout the day, each of our children confesses a fear or pain to me, all in their own timing, all in their own way. All I can do is encourage them to sit with their feelings and let it take them to their own meaning on the other side. One way or another, they know I’m there for them. The tenderness of these moments takes me to my own private depths, and sadness, merged with extraordinary gratitude for what we have had together as a family, and since, paints my canvas of life in the richest hues of love.

When I get home, I call Mark to tell him of my latest intuitive “hit.” “Mark, what do you think about creating some photographs of all of you with your mother? That way, after some of you have left, Jackie can have the photos to remind her of the good times you’ve had.” “Sounds good to me, Dad. I’ll ask Mom what she thinks and call you back.” He calls back almost immediately, and says to bring my cameras over the next afternoon. I am elated at the opportunity that this gift affords.

When I arrive, Alison is primping Jackie, and everyone but Kevin, our oldest son who was Jackie’s live-in caregiver for months before Mark quit his job to spell him, and Bobbie, Jackie’s husband, are gathered for the event. Kevin soon arrives from work, but Bobbie has a pressing engagement he can’t break. We gather on the front verandah and I begin to photograph, assembling various configurations as I’m prompted. Seemingly out of nowhere, Cheri, Jackie’s sister, tells me to get in a picture with Jackie and our children. I beg off, feeling privately that it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a photo with me and them without Bobbie there to do the same. I am admonished to get with it and reluctantly obey. We finish the session with Alison suggesting a photo with the children and just me. We all gather on and around the hammock nearby.

I tell everyone that I’m going to take the film to get it processed so everyone can have copies of favorites before they return home. As I head off, they gather Jackie and take her to the movies. A smile embraces my heart at the good news. When I return with the photos later that afternoon, Jackie is resting in the aftermath of what turned out to be a fun-filled time for her. Everyone agrees that as long as Jackie can handle it, this kind of activity is what should be continued.

I distribute the photos to everyone and excited bantering about this photo or that one fills the air. During a slight pause in the action, Todd holds up the photo of everyone with Jackie and me and announces wistfully, “Dad–this one is the miracle picture.” Time is pregnant with pause and tears glisten simultaneously in our eyes. The others silently affirm the truth of that proclamation. Immersed in the salve of this loving moment, I know that on some deeper level we are healed of the darkness imprisoned by the distant past. My heart fills with gratitude to such a degree that I feel it will burst.

Now a week later, I take three copies of the black and white photo of Jackie and the children over to Mark. I have just mailed copies to Alison, Todd and Dana Lynn. I knock softly at Jackie’s front door in case she is napping. Sure enough, Mark comes to the door and, motioning with his forefinger to his mouth, he lets me know our conversation needs to be taken out onto the front verandah. I give the framed photos for Jackie, Kevin and Mark to him, explaining that I’m running late for a dental appointment, so he says he’ll call me in a day or so to catch up on things. We exchange our usual hugs and “I love you’s” and I depart as announced.

Today Mark calls and asks how I feel. I’ve been suffering for a few days with a debilitating case of sciatica and have slept for only a few hours each night. My voice conveys this energetic emptiness and Mark shows concern by the intonation and inflection of his questions. In response I put him at as much ease as I can muster. After all, he has been running on empty for months now since he began nearly around the clock personal care for Jackie, so I don’t need to add to his misery. Having received some assurance that I will get past this in good shape, he tells me that Jackie loved the picture. “You know what Mom said about you, Dad?” “I can’t even begin to imagine, Mark.” “Well, she said: ‘Your father’s getting to be a sweet old man.’ ” Stunningly, grace falls silent.