There is something special about watching things grow
Something Special About Watching Things Grow
I have confessed to friends and family before that I do not have a green thumb like my mother. Possibly the most obvious proof of this was when I killed a Bonsai tree my son gifted me in 2009. I still feel guilty about that.
My mother loved gardening and growing vegetables and flowers. In 1980 when she learned that Bill and I planned to get married in her backyard and that my bridesmaids dresses were a vivid pink, she planted, fertilized and watered pink petunias all summer long. It was years before I appreciated how hard she worked to provide a beautiful backdrop for our wedding.
Fortunately, my children did not inherit my disability to grow plants.
Farmers
Our twins are grain farmers and when the weather cooperates they do an amazing job of growing acres and acres of corn and soybeans.
The other day I was in the local drugstore when a good friend, Gary, who knew my father (my dad died in 1995) walked in and we started reminiscing. My dad was a farmer and he sold farm equipment. Gary’s father, Simmons, worked with my dad. Gary and I have known each other for decades. I know his wife and son and love them all dearly.
Anyway, our trip down memory lane was about my dad. Fortunately, he lived long enough that he got to witness the birth of our twins and spend a little time with them. My father died suddenly of a heart attack when the twins were about 4 years old. He was proud of all our children but he thought it was so cool that Bill and I were blessed with identical twin boys.
“I wish my dad could see all of our children grow up, but I especially wish he could see the twins farming because of his love for farming,” I said to Gary.
“I wish he could too,” Gary said. “I think about your dad frequently and I know he would be so proud of them.”
I left the drugstore with tears in my eyes. It felt so good to know that someone else understood my dad’s love of farming.
Our son’s farm….they have more grain bins now.
Flowers
Fast forward a few weeks and I was talking to my daughter on the phone. She had just pulled into her driveway..
“Mom,” she said, “my flowers are so pretty. Grandma Shirley would be so proud! I’ll make a picture and send it to you!” Her youngest daughter gladly posed for the photo.
She couldn’t see me, but my eyes welled up with tears (yes, I cry a lot. I inherited my Aunt Roberta’s tear ducts). My mom died of colon cancer in 1990 when she was only 51 years old our daughter, Rachel, was only 5 at the time. Mom never got to see our twins but she adored our three oldest children (including Rachel) that she did get to meet.
What I was Thinking
The reason for my tears wasn’t the flowers, it was the “be so proud” part of her sentence. There is no way I can explain to my five children how proud their grandparents would be of them, or how much I regret that my parents are not here to see my children, my brother’s children or their grandchildren.
They would love that our oldest is working with the elderly and sharing his huge heart with them. They would be proud (but not surprised) that our daughter is following in her dad’s footsteps and making a difference in the field of healthcare. They would love that the little boy they nicknamed “Bulldozer” had married a girl he went to Bible school with and was still marching to the beat of a different drummer. And finally, the twins that dad got to meet but mom didn’t….they would both love that they are farmers and working land that’s been in our family for generations.
The fact that they aren’t here is a hurt that knows no end.
When my mother was sick with the cancer that would eventually kill her, we walked out to the garden late one afternoon. She was weak and we sat down side by side and looked at the corn, beans, squash and other vegetables that she and my grandmother had planted. The sun was melting red and orange into the horizon. The young plants had pushed through the soil and were basking in the final rays of the sun.
“You know,” she said softly, “there’s just something special about watching things grow.”
I didn’t answer, I couldn’t because of the lump in my throat, but I knew she was right.
I can’t grow plants but I grew some pretty amazing children. There is something very special about watching things grow, whether it’s plants, flowers or any kind of vegetation but in my opinion it’s extra special when it’s children and grandchildren.
How I wish Mom and Dad could see them.
Do you still have your parents? If not do you find yourself wishing they could see your children and grandchildren? I’d love to hear your comments!
