The year was 2004, and it was a beautiful Sunday in June. I was just three months shy of my 10th birthday, a carefree little girl with her head in the clouds. Bunnies, puppies, and vegetable gardening in the backyard were what my world revolved around.
After being confined all morning to your typical boring Sunday morning church service, I was eager to be released when we got home early that afternoon. My dad had cleaned out an overgrown area in the backyard for me to use as my very own garden that year. A big girl garden! I was over the moon excited! This spot was so much bigger than my previous patch of dirt in the corner of one of his flower beds. In my imagination, I was now a horticulture superstar. I saw it as a whole 20-acre farm or something, where I would produce bushels upon bushels of cabbage heads (I didn’t even like to eat cabbage, I just liked to grow them because I thought they looked pretty!)
Now June is still pretty early in the season for New England gardening, so not much produce was growing yet. Still, I ran out into the backyard to check on the progress. I had been waiting on one thing in particular- waiting for my tomato transplants to flower.
Was it happening? With enthusiasm rising, I thought I saw a hint of yellow amongst the row of green plants. Closer observation proved that to be correct- a tomato plant was in bloom!
“This is the best day of my life!” I shouted audibly towards the sky. Indeed, a perfect day it appeared to be. My tomatoes were blossoming and I had a playdate scheduled with a friend later that day. I couldn’t wait to show him the new developments in my garden.
Little did I know, this lovely day would soon take an unexpected turn.
A little while before this time, Grandma Phelps- Mom’s mom- had decided to attend a different church than we did. A neighbor down the street from us would give her a ride each week since they also went to the other church. Either way, my parents would still typically have Grandma Phelps over to our house for Sunday dinner each week.
But this day we couldn’t get ahold of Grandma on the phone. We found out that she chose not to go with our neighbors to church that day, so she should have been home. Mom kept calling, but only the answering machine picked up. The sense that something was wrong began to loom in the air. Mom then left to drive over to Grandma Phelps’s house in the next town to see what was going on. Dad stayed home with my brother and me.
Not much later our phone rang. Dad picked up and all I could make out was Mom crying on the other end. That was all it took to know. Grandma Phelps had passed away at home. The events from that day are burned into my brain kind of as if they were in one of those now vintage slide shows that you would project on an old bed sheet.
An idyllic day and pure joy over flowering tomatoes. Wait, something might be wrong with Grandma. The phone rings. Storm clouds mar the blue sky. We enter into a dazed state of sadness. Everything changed.
For obvious reasons, Dad called to tell my friend’s parents that we had to cancel our get-together. I was disappointed but understood. Well, I kind of understood. After we got the news and it was clear that Mom would not be coming home for a while, I wandered back out to my garden. Tomato blossoms had lost their sparkle. The best day of my life? Umm…
I was still young and struggling to make sense of what was even happening. I thought, Ok grandma died and this is sad. I am sad. But at the same time, I puzzled over the whole thing. I’m supposed to be sad, it’s my grandma. But why am I sad? Why is death sad?
Ironically, just the previous evening, we were all over at Grandma Phelps’s house to celebrate Mom’s birthday. For whatever reason, I guess was in a hurry to go home that night. That fateful evening I went out to the car and didn’t say goodbye to Grandma.
Who could have known I missed my last chance.
This upset me and I remember making a solemn vow to myself that I would always be sure to say goodbye to Grandma Buddington- Dad’s mom- so that we hopefully wouldn’t lose her too.
That day in 2004 will always live in my memory as a day of sharp contrasts. From having a celebration one night to mourning the next. From spending Sunday morning in a stodgy man-made church building to going out into the garden of God’s creation- featuring a blindingly bright rainbow of colors. From a light euphoric atmosphere to one that is dark and depressed.
Those images from 17 ½ years ago featuring myself and some tomato plants on the day Grandma Phelps died have been popping up on replay in my mind a lot lately. Maybe it’s because I don’t like how fast everything around me seems to be changing. Both personally and in the world at large. I’m certain I’m not alone in feeling this way.
A lot was altered back then too. Grandma Phelps passed from this life to the next. Our family dynamic changed, a layer of security had been stripped away with her gone. I had to grow up a little, whether I wanted to or not. We went from not having a dog to adopting Molly, Grandma’s Sheltie puppy. My family prepared to sell Grandma Phelps’s house on Primrose Lane, packing up all her earthly possessions. The last time I would be able to scale the epic climbing trees on her property would come.
Those tomato flowers back in my garden didn’t stay flowers forever either that summer. First comes flowers, then comes the fresh, juicy red fruit in due time. If only all of life’s shifts were that good, right? But that’s what our existence consists of…change upon change upon change. Good, bad, and somewhere in the middle. We all know and live this, but the fluctuations are challenging nonetheless.
People go around worrying about how the wind will decide to blow tomorrow, or what next big political, social, or natural disaster is coming down the pike. It seems like this often leaves us frozen to what is happening today, in the present moment, the only one we actually have.
I think it’s a tragedy that many people- myself included in recent times- lose that childlike sense of wonder and excitement as they go through life. The coldness of the outside world can take a toll and harden us. We might fail to even notice the simple, lovely things around us at all- like tomato blossoms.
Sure, next year might not come. Or next month, or tomorrow. Heck, the sky could fall in two hours from now. But why let all that steal right now from you? Oh, and while you have right now, don’t just swear to always just say goodbye to those dear to you when you part ways…make sure they know that you love them. We won’t be here forever- like tomato blossoms.
So today I hope you and I make it a point to let ourselves get excited about those things that light us up. Put aside the angst about whatever may or may not hit the fan for a while. Embrace that childish enchantment over those little blessings of life, even as transient as they are- like tomato blossoms.
Fading Blue Owl 