| Biographical Poetry posted June 8, 2008 |
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Free Verse Narrative: Fading into the darkness. .
Red Geraniums
by Mrs. KT
To all who have ever lost a loved one to dementia or Parkinson's disease and struggled with their passing. . .
Such a small request, really. More of a nuisance than anything. But she always needed something done. Isn't that what the hired help was supposed to do? Why was it so difficult to just relax and do nothing but enjoy one another's company during these visits? Yet, it was such a minor request; she simply couldn't refuse. And if it made the old woman happy, then it was worth the effort. So she gathered what she needed and headed through the garden gate carrying everything with her: a small trowel a bag of potting soil a sturdy piece of crockery a jug of water three red seed geraniums four containers of trailing ivy The old woman heard her approach and slowly turned from her seat upon the garden's wooden bench. You were gone a long time. I thought you'd get here sooner. You'll need gloves, you know. You forgot your garden gloves. A lady's hands must always stay soft and smooth. Kneeling on the unkempt lawn, surrounded by a riot of fallen cherry blossoms, unruly purple violets, and errant golden dandelions, she emptied the dirt into the clay pot. She worked the soil carefully, first with the spade, and then with her bare hands. Red geraniums. They always had to be red. Every May. White or pink would never do. He said that red stood out from any other color in the garden. Red geraniums announced, "This is our home. Come on in. You are welcome here." She deftly eased the geraniums from their protective containers and gently placed them along with the ivy into their new home. The soil was rich and cool and smelled of spring and possibilities. I scolded him once. When he left the geraniums out in a rainstorm. The blossoms got all puckery and mealy. Why didn't he bring them in? He knew it was going to rain. I told him to bring them in, but he didn't listen to me. Afterwards, he pouted, and I was angry. She patted the soil knowingly and gave the crockery a little turn. Bits of soil splattered onto her blue denim skirt. No stains. Just good clean dirt; it would wash. Now, not too much water. Everybody thinks that geraniums need a lot of water. Just make sure you get their little feet wet. That's all they need. Every other day. And put them on the porch, Dan'l, if it's going to rain. Put them on the porch. She stood and dusted off her skirt. Pleased with the finished product, she turned to the old woman and smiled. Well now. You did a fine job. A fine job; that's for sure. Couldn't have done better myself. You watered them, yes? It doesn't feel like rain this afternoon. We'll put them on the front porch. Lovely, just lovely. Gathering all of the gardening remnants, she bade the old woman to stay put and enjoy the peacefulness of the late afternoon. She would return shortly with a cup of tea. She would brew them both a cup of tea and bring some of those little ginger cookies back with her - for a special treat. Mind you, put everything back where you found it. Make sure that bag of dirt is closed. Everything like it once was. Everything in its proper place. Wipe your feet, Dan'l. I just washed the kitchen floor. And no mugs. Tea should be served in a proper china cup. Dan'l never liked tea at all. Too bitter, I suppose. She hurried to the garden-shed and then on to the kitchen. Not a good idea to leave her alone for too long. From the kitchen window, she could still see her: so slight, and bent, and frail. The tea bags. Where had they put the damn tea bags? Nothing was where it should be anymore. Well, hello there. So good of you to visit. Will you be staying long? I must have dozed off. Tea? Why, yes, I'd love some. I've been planting geraniums all day long. Aren't they lovely? Red geraniums. Pots and pots of red geraniums. For my husband. You know, my husband loves red geraniums in crocks with trailing ivy. . . Sitting together on that wooden bench under the shade of a cherry tree, surrounded by violets and dandelions, memories and regrets, she took her mother's gnarled and arthritic hand in hers, and she kissed it. She kissed it tenderly and reverently for what once had been, for what would never be again, and most importantly, for a lifetime filled with red geraniums and trailing ivy. . . <<<~~~>>> |
 Recognized |
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My mother passed away on June 26, 2007 of complications from Parkinson's disease and dementia. One of the most vivid memories I have of the diseases that took her life are recounted in the above offering. . .diane kenel-truelove 6/8/08
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