Fleeting Perennials

The peony is considered "The Queen of the Flowers." It symbolizes strength and righteousness in the face of adversity. Perennials are flowers that rebloom year after year. Most perennials live 5-15 years. The peony, however, is special. It can withstand the winter and blossom in the spring for up to 100 years or more. If my granny were a flower, she'd be a peony. Resilient, strong, and beautiful. Just like a peony, I assumed she would be around for years to come.

At 18-years old, I was not only invincible but also "intelligent." No one could tell me anything, for I already knew everything there was to know. Hah! Why is it most young adults think they know it all? I love Mark Twain's quote, "When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years."

My granny was the glue that held our broken family together. At 18, I had an "anywhere but here" attitude. I looked for any excuse to escape the prison that was my house. I was hardly ever home. I spent all of my free time, chasing after boys. I wanted so desperately to fall in love. To fall in love would be my salvation. I could finally escape my sad existence and create a new life. A life of love, happiness, and hope. To my dismay, all the boys I seemed to fall for didn't share my vision.

I took after my dad in the sense that I was a "tough" girl. I had everything to prove. I needed people to know, they couldn't hurt me. I was resilient and emotionless. I portrayed the "tough girl act" well. I no longer let anyone in, including myself. Time after time my heart would get broken, but I would not let myself feel it. I would not face any of my pain or my true emotions. Not about my family life, personal life, or especially my love life, or lack thereof.

I lived with my head in the clouds, never quite grasping reality, but only my deluded sense of it. The only thing I desired was to love and be loved. I had no sense of self-worth. Truth be told, I didn't love myself. I was distant from my parents because their love felt conditioned. My granny was the only person to show me, unconditional love. The feeling of being loved was so foreign to me, that I had trouble accepting it. It felt uncomfortable to me, yet it was love I desired most.

My granny was the only sense of stability in my life. She was the "reason for the season." We spent every holiday at her house. After Church, every Sunday, she made dinner from scratch. Everyone was invited to Sunday dinner at Granny's: extended family, friends, even coworkers. She called me every week, asking me to visit her, but sadly I was too preoccupied with finding a man to love. All those years I spent looking for love, I failed to see the love in front of me.

By the age of 22, I had pretty much given up on falling in love. At this time in life, my granny was widowed and diagnosed with cancer. My heart was broken for I could not fathom existing in a world where my granny did not. My granny was fiercely independent and a fighter to the core. For two years she had been living alone with cancer. Though she would never admit it, she needed some help. She could no longer live safely alone.

Upon overhearing my parents discussing moving my granny into a home, I protested without hesitation. I knew she would hate it and her spirit would be broken. I could not stand to see that happen, so I volunteered to move in with her. I was only working part-time, so I could be home with her for the majority of the time. I could keep an eye on her and help with the housework.

This news delighted my granny. She was so excited for me to move in. My bedroom was upstairs, and since she could no longer climb the stairs, the guest room downstairs became her bedroom. I expected to begin taking care of her right away, but she could not let go of her role as the caregiver. At first, she cooked dinner for us every night, with the help of her walker which doubled as a chair, for when she needed rest. That first night I moved in, I asked her how I could help out with dinner? To which she replied for me to peel the potatoes. I had never cooked a meal before in my life and was confused, so I asked her how to peel a potato. Well, that just tickled her. "How do you expect to help out, if you don't know how to peel a potato, child?!"

Oh, she had a time with that story! I overheard her tell it on the phone to at least 5 different people. This whole time I thought I moved in to take care of her, yet she was still the one taking care of me. My presence in the house motivated my granny. She began to feel better. She was no longer lonely and her life had purpose again. Truthfully, moving in, gave my life a sense of purpose as well. Suddenly, my existence didn't feel so lonely either.

When I lived at my parent's house, I hid away in my room. I only came out of my cave, when deemed necessary. This was not the case at Granny's. I spent a lot of time hanging out with her in the living room watching TV or just visiting. For the first time in my life, I truly felt at home. The first few months I lived there was pure bliss.

As time went on, my granny became sicker. She was having a really hard time with losing her independence and began to take it out on me. I was a bartender at a music venue at the time and worked odd hours. My granny didn't seem to believe me. I overheard her on the phone, complaining to her sister, how I moved in so I could party all night and sleep all day. This was a frustrating time for me. I understood she was scared and dying. I knew talking on the phone was her only source of life outside of watching TV. I quickly grew tired of this narrative and found another job with better hours. As soon as I would get home in the afternoon, she would begin telling me what needed to be done around the house. I would tell her that I would do it as soon as I changed clothes and after I had a chance to relax for a few minutes. Well, that did not fit her schedule. It needed to be done when she said, or else she would throw a fit and try to do it herself.

My feelings were hurt because I moved in so she could be able to live at home, yet it felt like I could never do anything right. She complained about me to anyone who would listen. In the year that I lived with her, I learned patience, compassion, and forgiveness. I cleaned up her accidents when she could not make it to the toilet in time. I took her to doctor's appointments, got her groceries, her medicine, took care of her flower beds, and gave her company at nights when she needed it most. Yes, I was angry with her at times, but I bit my tongue. I watched as the strongest woman I knew, withered away to nothing. She took care of everyone her entire life, and she took pride in it. She hated feeling like a burden and had a hard time accepting that she was dying.

Eventually, it got to the point, where she could not be alone and needed more care than I could provide. We had to sell her house. My mom retired early. My granny moved into my old room at my parent's house, and my mother took over her health care. I met the man of my dreams, during the year I lived with my granny. Upon moving out of her house, I moved in with him.

My granny lived for years after I moved out, but suffered a great deal of pain. One day I received a phone call from my mother, informing me that my granny was in the hospital again. This was common, as she was in and out of the hospital her entire stay with my parents. I told my mom I'd get her some flowers after work and stop by the hospital. To which my mother replied, "Honey, I don't know how to break this to you, but don't worry about the flowers - she won't be able to see them, baby, she's in a coma. I need you to be prepared to say goodbye."

I struggled to catch my breath. My mother's words stole the air from my lungs. The air felt heavy, as though I was being crushed by it. Tears streamed down my face as I sped to the hospital. My mom was waiting for me outside of her room, "Baby, she's been unconscious for over a day now. I did not want to call you until her situation had stabilized, it was touch and go for a while. She looks like she's sleeping. You can talk to her, I don't know if she can hear you or not, she is barely hanging on." I attempted to compose myself and I walked inside the room.

Lying in the hospital bed, my frail granny looked 2 sizes smaller. She was hooked up to so many tubes and wires, I didn't know where she began and they ended. Granny, I whispered, it's me, Caitee. Upon speaking those words, my granny opened her eyes. I gasped, as tears leaked out of my eyes. I began talking to her in a soothing tone. I asked if she was in pain, and to my surprise, she moaned yes. Hearing that broke my heart, I felt helpless. She was halfway sunken in the bed, and her head was lain crooked on the pillow. "Do you want me to adjust your pillows?" I wept. "Yes," she managed to say again. I looked at my mom who was looking back at me sympathetically. I adjusted my granny's pillows and asked her if that felt any better? For a third time, my granny said, "Yes". She was quiet for some time after and I continued trying to soothe her, by speaking to her softly. She interrupts me to mumble, "Caitee - Help!" and began to moan in pain. Those two words cut through my psyche like a knife. I too began to wail in pain, as my heart physically hurt. A nurse ran in to check on us because my cries of anguish were so loud.

Those two words were the last thing my granny ever said to me. I gave the Eulogy at her funeral. I wanted to keep it positive. I spoke on how even in death, she has managed to bring the entire family together one last time. After she passed away, our extended family grew apart. No more Sunday dinners or reason to gather together for the holidays now. Everyone has begun new traditions of their own.

Life is a series of cycles. We are born into this world, helpless and in need of constant care. From a helpless baby, we grow into a toddler - wanting to be a "big kid." When we reach the title of "big kid" our desire turns to "double digits", to pre-teen, to teenager, to 18-years old when we think we are adults, to 21-years old when we're of age to have a legal drink, until finally, we reach our mid-twenties. Suddenly, we're aware of our own mortality and long for life to slow down. We carry on this way, living our life until we come undone. As our cycle comes to an end, we find ourselves as helpless as we came into this world.

Perennials are constantly blooming and dying, upon the changing of seasons. Despite a cold winter, they return in the spring instilling a quiet sense of hope. They decorate the earth with color. They are mother nature's gift to us. The only thing my granny loved as much as taking care of her family, was tending to her flower beds. Her house was surrounded by beautiful flowers. Even after she passed away, the flowers she planted at her old house, would still bloom in the spring. They went on blooming like that for years. I would drive by her old house sometimes, just so I could see her flowers. Eventually, the new tenants decided to dig them all up. Nothing in this life lasts forever. So now, whenever I see a flower, I remember my granny, with her heart full of love and her hands full of dirt.