Daisies
I used to travel all over the US with my job. It was always an adventure to say the least. After my daughter was born, I began keeping a journal for her. Each flight, I wrote to her. I began the journal when she was about eight months old. The first two years I kept the journal regularly as I traveled frequently. When I left the job and the travel behind, I also became quite slack with writing to my daughter. Recently, I picked up the journal and read the first few months of entries.
I’ve said many times how influential my Grandparents were in my life. I often feel that I don’t convey their personalities and memories to my daughter as true as they were for me. How do I put into words the many wonderful things they did for me? How do I recreate those feelings for her?
In rural SC, most folks have wells for water. It’s a common sight to see a well pump house in a yard of country homes. In my memories I see a well with beautiful daisies surrounding it. I think that daisies were the first flower that I remember loving. I see them and the association is instant.
My Grandfather Duncan was a stern man. He stood tall and intimidating. I wasn’t his favorite grandchild. He didn’t show love like my other grandparents. But his love was felt none the less. There are few times that I can recall moments with him where he really showed me his love.
I was a little girl ... maybe five or six. I’m out in the pecan trees playing. I see the daisies and I’m attracted to their pretty white flowers with the yellow center. They are abundant and wild. I decided to pick a flower and examine it more closely. Not long after I pick it, Granddaddy Duncan walks around the corner. He sits on the grass with me and tells me about the daisy flower. He shows me how to pick each flower petal to find out if “someone loves me” or “loves me not”. So, I go through the petals and luckily, Granddaddy did love me on the last petal.
I was 15 when my Granddaddy Duncan passed away with lung cancer. It was the first time I had experienced the loss of someone close to me. It was my first death that was handed to me by the brutal hands of cancer. I think losing someone to cancer is a lot like daisy petals. One petal they get the bad news. One petal they decide to fight. If “someone loves me”, one petal and they may beat cancer. The next several petals are years waiting and praying that with each new year they are one petal closer to truly being cancer free. Or if “someone loves me not”, one petal may be the news that treatments are not working. The next several petals are telling your family your time is near. Trying to keep comfortable and painless. Till one day, that last petal falls off and it’s over.
That’s the thing about daisies ... even when all the petals fall off, there is still a bright yellow center. So for me, the center is God’s way of reminding me that even though my petals are gone, he is not. My Granddaddy Duncan’s life on earth may have ended, but he is home now. He went from the last petal to the bright, yellow center and is now by God’s side.
I know that every time I look at a daisy, I think of him. And, it’s in these small memories that I find myself sharing with Ashton bits and pieces of her wonderful great-grandparents. On March 25, 2005, I wrote: “I bought you several presents while in Indy ... a cool pair of sandals with a daisy on them ... I love daisies. They remind me of Grandaddy Duncan. He was Grandma’s Dad. He grew a bed of them by his well. They were always pretty and I have a vivid image of them from my childhood.” One day she will read this journal. One day, she will have the same image in her head that I have in mine. One day, she will think about him.
And, one day when she looks at a picture of him, she will think of beautiful daisies. And from that moment on, his life will always be remembered when she picks a daisy out of the yard. And, when that last petal falls, she will know that she is loved.
