Herb of the Sun

What flower is this Abuelita? I see myself, I am 5 years old with my ponytail and ribbons. I am in bare feet, you never wear shoes in the garden. I can feel the dirt between my toes, I loved that feeling. "Mi Nieta, that is the herb of the Sun." She smiles at me, wearing all black as she always did. I never understood why she wore black everyday, I never understood why her entire garden consisted of the same flower, I just loved spending time with her. I can still see her face, hear her voice....smell the marigolds...........

And then I wake up.

The dream again. I miss my grandmother. As an adult, I learned so many new things about her. I wish I could know her now. If only I could talk to her. How did she live her life in mourning, yet seemed so happy. Is that possible? She wore only black for the rest of her life after she was widowed. Planting only marigolds, believing their strong scent would allow the departed to find their way home. If only it were that easy. I lost the scent of the marigolds somewhere on my path. I departed from my own life, needing help to find my way.

The days seem to begin and end the same. I find myself on my patio, trying to figure out where I belong. I think about granny, her life to most, appeared simple and sad. I can picture the other villagers whispering behind her back feeling sorry for her. But she was truly happy and content with the garden she chose. Her path was clear, and she never wanted or accepted pity. I wish I understood that in my own life.

Only if my mother would have planted a seed within me. My talent could have germinated with water and sun, imagine what I could have grown into. I always wanted to be a writer. It was a way to invent a new life. My words could take me to a better time. A world I created within safe walls, safe people, happy times. All an illusion, except for the lovely woman in black and the scent of the marigolds.

I could have been a beautiful marigold. If only my seeds were sown in warm ground, with no danger of frost. Sprouting fast, the potential to spread out wide, with room to grow. In the direct sun I would have thrived, opening to my full potential. A symbol of creativity and passion. If only they had known. I wish that I had known my worth. I begin staring at the planters on my porch. The flowers are so full of orange, red and yellow colors. My obsession with these flowers must save me, they are directing me.

It brings me back to the dream. My grandmother must be timelessly planting and waiting on me. She knows the end of the dream. I am being called to rewrite and replant my story. Her story has been told. My story is growing now.

What flower is this Abuelita? I see myself, I am 5 years old with my ponytail and ribbons. I am in bare feet, you never wear shoes in the garden. I can feel the dirt between my toes, I loved that feeling. "Mi Nieta, that is the herb of the Sun". She smiles at me, " Abuelita, but how can they grow in messy dirt?" She looked up at me and said " My child, because marigolds grow best in poor soil." Now I understand why her entire garden consisted of the same flower. We are all herbs of the sun. Surrounded by the messy dirt of an existence. But the smell, the sweet fragrance can wake us up to the promise of tomorrow. We can all find our way home. I can still see her face, hear her voice....smell the marigolds...........