I never liked flowers. To me, they were a giant waste of money. Why would I buy something, that is going to die? Whenever someone would gift me flowers, I took them to an elderly home or hospital. I wanted someone to enjoy them because I didn’t see the value.
Then death happened and I was inundated with flowers. Instinctively, I took the first vase of buds to an elderly home and then the second to an emergency room. But then I kept the third bouquet.
They were white lilies and yellow roses. Honestly, they reminded me of the flowers my husband and I had at our wedding. The arrangement was in a pretty white mosaic vase. Our sweet friends many miles away sent them. The flowers lived on our dining room table for two weeks and when they died, I decided to replace them.
I was broken and not sure how to pick up the pieces. Each day, for two weeks, as I walked past the vase, I saw the beauty within the mosaic squares. I’m not sure if these were made from old china plates, tea cups, seashells or beads. But these recycled pieces were now part of something bigger. They are not perfect – you can see the mortar holding everything together. But isn’t that the reality of everything previously broken? There is something holding the broken together and keeping the pieces from falling apart. There is beauty in the imperfect. I’m sure I’ve previously recited that cliché statement, but I don’t know if I really believed it until that moment.
Grief is tricky. It changes us in unexplainable ways. More times than not, it will teach you things you didn’t know you needed to know.
I replaced the flowers with a bouquet of ranunculus and surprised myself with a feeling of joy. Not happiness. Joy. Happiness is usually triggered and based on people, things, thoughts or events. But joy is cultivated internally and is a sense of peace within yourself.
In that moment, I realized the significance of appreciating the little things and identifying how I can use those as daily reminders that life will move forward, and feel abundant again. Even though flowers die, they are a gentle reminder that life is a cycle. We are created to be creators – to produce love, relationships, fullness, kindness, and encouragement. Our lives are meant to make a difference and impact another life.
When talking about miscarriage James Van Der Beek said, “I’ve heard some amazing metaphysical explanations for them, mostly centering around the idea that these little souls volunteer for this short journey for the benefit of the parents.”
I know I’m a little bit bias because I love Dawson’s Creek, but I think Van Der Beek is right. My little person continues to teach me so much. So, I’ll keep buying flowers because it’s a reminder of the lessons I’ve learned and continue to embark on.