On Sundays, I buy fresh flowers. I have done this for so many years. I bought them on the street in NYC when I lived in a shoe-boxed sized apartment right off 5th Avenue and when I lived in the ugliest beach house in America on a beautiful stretch of sugar sand on the West Coast of Florida. No matter my finances, I always found $5 or so to buy some flowers. They are always placed in the glass ice bucket I got at TJ Maxx for about $10 more years ago than I can remember. This week’s bounty was particularly luxurious, because Safeway had white lilies on sale – large bunches for $3 each, with opened and closed buds. I bought three.
I wonder sometimes if the corporatists in this country so hell-bent on making life for everyone not desperately rich even more difficult ever consider the small joys they rob so many Americans of . . . if only of a bunch of supermarket flowers to brighten a room. But I digress.
It was good to see these pretty lilies this morning – so fragrant, warm and opening – because it has been a very hard day.
My dear brother-in-law, about whom I have written before, continues his struggle with cancer. Despite superb care and will and his amazing courage, nothing, to date, has worked. This morning, he underwent a laryngectomy. I know that he is out of surgery, but we have had no further news.
This is what I also know: On the day after my Dad died, my dear BIL showed up at the door of the small room where I was composing his eulogy and stayed with me while I did it. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to.
I remember his wedding in Maine. I remember that the wind was so strong on the beach that morning that we couldn’t hear the vows, but that we could see the love and joy on his face and that of my sister-in-law when the marriage was pronounced.
I know that he loves Chicago Blues and the Cubs and the Bears. Also the Jayhawks.
He is one of our fun family members. Please do not pretend you do not know what I mean. My immediate family is predominantly Protestant. My SIL’s family is predominantly Catholic. On one of the first Christmas Day dinners after we were lucky enough to get my BIL, who is Jewish, we gained an appreciative soulmate at our traditional Christmas filet dinners. As he said: “This is so much better than Chinese and a movie.” He also had thirds, which the traditional family cook (me) absolutely loved.
I can hear in my mind’s ear his familiar greeting to me. I will never hear that again.
I can’t imagine what my SIL is going through tonight, as she sits by his side in the hospital. She has been his pillar and strength, but she is now thin as a board.
They have three children.
And all I can think tonight is this: please let this be enough.
I wish that white flowers could be enough. But they are not.