Shared Tears

One petal dangled from the wilting rose, barely maintaining its tenuous connection to the flower. Marilyn, her honey blond locks blowing in the gentle winter wind knelt down to caress the singular petal, a single tear staining the beauty of her face as it slid down her rosy cheek. As I often did, I watched her silent vigil, smiled as she deftly brushed the snow off the few remaining leaves of the long stemmed tea rose clinging to life in the garden beside her house. This day the overnight snow kept me from going out to say hello, looking up she waved at me, knowing I would be there watching, sharing in her routine.

She pulled the zip lock bag out of her coat pocket; sprinkled yesterdays coffee grinds around the base of the bush, dusted the snow off her gloved hands, the flakes sparkling in the crisp morning sunlight as they drifted back down to earth like diamonds shared from heaven. Wiping her tears away she tenderly kissed the tenacious petal and turned to head back indoors.

Taking my cue I went into the kitchen, putting water on to boil. Set up two cups, two saucers, got the Chamomile tea and honey out of the cupboard, placed the last of the Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Delights on a plate and placed them on the tray standing sentry on the counter top. The shrill sound of the whistling tea kettle let me know the water was ready, interrupted my reverie of that day not so long ago. Carefully I placed one tea bag in each cup, gingerly added a generous dollop of honey, and added the water to steep just as the doorbell rang.

I gracefully maneuvered my wheelchair through recently widened doorways of my home to the entry hall, careful not to bump anything along the way. Opening the door I let Marilynn in, she warmly smiled before bending down to give me a gentle peck on my cheek.

This was part of our shared routine.

Neither of us spoke as she whisked past me into the kitchen, I close behind. I watched as she slipped off her coat, watched as she placed cups on the tray and carried everything out to my sun room, placed it all on the table where we both could peer out through the window, see the rose bush her husband had planted two summers ago while home on leave.

She spoke first, asked me how my therapy was going, the usual small chit chat as we nibbled our cookies, sipped our tea. Her strength always amazed me, her will to carry on helping me in my own path of healing, my quest to again be whole. I listened, watched for the tears I knew would come. She glanced out the window at her rose bush, the one I'd help Rob pick out at the nursery down the road as a gift for their third anniversary.

Turning back, that singular tear again rolling down her cheek she smiled weakly and then began too speak, "Tell me again about the roadside bomb, I need to hear again the last words he spoke to you as you held him in your arms."

A Photographer is Born

One petal dangled from the wilting rose, barely maintaining its tenuous connection to the flower. Snow blanketed the few wilted leaves, a mottled green leaf edge glistening in the few rays peeking out from the billowy gray clouds. I'd spied the flower from my dining room window, knew it would make a great photograph, had grabbed my camera, slipped on my coat and headed outside as I'd done so many times before. At 47 I'd given up the dream of being a professional photographer, but old habits were hard to break, and being behind a lens was part of me.

As I was framing the shot, figuring out the angle Randy, the six year old in the house next door came running around the corner squealing in joy at being outside in the snow, his bright yellow boots, dazzling hot blue scarf and green winter coat a rainbow of movement as he approached. He slowed, and then stopped a few feet away watching as I went about the task of taking a picture. As I stood up he approached as he always did to say hello.

"Hi Patty, what are you doing?"

"Hi Randy, how are you on this beautiful day?"

"I'm fine, what are you doing?"

"I was just taking a picture of this flower Randy."

"Can I try?"

My first impulse was to find some excuse any excuse to say no, make my apologies, perhaps promise him an opportunity on some other day and get back into the warmth of my house, pour myself a second cup of much needed coffee. Just before I spoke I looked up into his face; saw his pleading eyes, his hopeful look of anticipation at learning something new.

"Sure, I'll let you take one picture."

With a shouted, "MOM, Patty is going to let me take a picture!", he took off on a run to the shared gate that separated our yards, slipping and laughing with glee the entire way. As he raced towards me he went into a deliberate baseball slide and stopped inches from bowling me over, then popping up like a Jack-In-The-Box began dusting the snow off his coat looking proud as a peacock at his antics. I smiled in spite of myself, marveled at his ability to squeeze every ounce of fun that he could find out of the day.

"So, how do I take a picture?"

Crouching down to his level I carefully explained how the camera worked, showed him which button to push to capture the shot, provided a brief explanation of the things he should look for in choosing a subject for his picture, then carefully slipped the camera over his knitted hat and around his neck.

"So, are you ready to be a photographer Randy?"

I watched as he gingerly lifted the camera into his small hands, watched as he examined it with a sense of wonder. "I push this button?"

"That's right Randy; you are a very good listener. So, what do you want to take a picture of?"

"I don't know, can we walk around the yard and find something?"

"Sure"

With that, Randy carefully headed back to the gate and on into his back yard, I following behind, watching as he went about his task. He would stop, carefully raise the camera to have a look, and then move on. He finally stopped at a bird bath that had been tucked into the Lilac bushes for its winter rest, snow frozen in its bowl. Again he raised the camera to his eyes, not satisfied he crouched down, looked at his chosen subject from a different angle and pushed the button capturing his prize.

"Would you like to take another?"

The smile bursting across his face told me another life long photographer had just been born.