Because I Can...

I am typing these words

with the hope that you will read them

Because I can.

I am breathing the air

and taking it deep into my lungs

Because I can.                                                        

Tonight I got in my car, and in a frenzy of desperation, I drove to Lowe's and bought a beautiful white perennial plant from the garden center.

I don't know the name of the plant; I couldn't pronounce it. But I got it.

I got it because I needed to DO SOMETHING. I needed to plant a plant for my friend. A plant would remind me of her every time I saw it. It had life and was beautiful; like my friend.

The plant is tall, delicate, and has pale white flowers. When I went to buy the plant, I didn't know what color or kind I'd buy, but I knew I'd "know" what I wanted when I saw it.

And I did. The white flowers reminded me of her skin; a light ivory, which was delicate, always, and always adorned with red freckles to match her red hair.

Planting that flower is the ONLY thing I can do for my friend now; and she doesn't even know I'm doing it.

Why?

Because she is dying.

I am in Seattle, she is in Connecticut, so there's three hours difference in time between us, and she's we're over 3000 miles apart. She has been my friend since we were in 2nd grade.

I got the call today; her sister reached me on my cell phone. She asked where I was; I told her I was in my car. She told me she needed to talk about MB -  (my friend) - and that I should get home and put the kids to bed and give her a call. 

I asked her if I should pull over.

She said, "You'd better."

So, in a McDonald's parking lot, she told me about MB.

That she was very ill; it was sudden. Breast Cancer that MB didn't know she had. It had metastasized. There was nothing they cold  do. 

NOTHING, except keep her "comfortable." She worked last week, now she is dying with a cancer that consumed her without her knowledge.

I was glad I had pulled over because I fell apart.

There's so much more to the story, but I'll tell you that my eyes are swollen and my hands hurt; my heart hurts. For my friend and her dear, dear, family who I love so much.

I got home, saw my kids, and went to the potting shed like a maniac. I grabbed a shovel and kneeling pad. I went to the garage and grabbed a hoe.  I left the gloves behind.

I looked around the landscaped area near my deck. It was overgrown with weeds; I'd been too focused on the stress in my life to tend my garden; to tend to ME, or anything important to ME, (other than my kids), and I took my shoes off, grabbed the hoe and started to pummel the ground to make a hole. I planted the delicate white flower, and then I sat there, rubbing the dirt over it, even-ing it out, making it perfect around MBs plant.

I started seeing the weeds and stray grass in that flower bed. I started pulling. There could be no weeds around the flower for my friend. It had to be beautiful. 

Un-gloved, I started ripping. Ripping out weeds, grass, with my bare hands. I ran to the next bed, and started ripping. I felt the dirt under my fingernails, the damp grass and dirt under my bare feet. I started crying. I had no tissue. I started wiping the mucous with the back of my hand and then my shirt. I was weeping for my friend, for her children, for her mother, her siblings. I was weeping because I was losing her. My friend. And I couldn't do a damn thing to change it. I couldn't hold her hand. I couldn't make her laugh.

I ran to the next flower bed. I weeded and patted the ground, I felt the rocks under my dirty hands. I sat there, feeling the coolness of the rocks. A wind blew - a cool wind. I remember thinking, "I am breathing this cool air. I am smelling the wind. My friend can't do that. I will do it for her. I will feel this dirt with my hands because it is soil, it is cool and damp and it smells fresh. I'm feeling this earth because she can't. I will feel this for HER." The cuts on my now-dirty hands and feet hurt - a result of my pulling and pulling without gloves and walking barefoot. I cherished that I could feel that pain.  I took for granted that I could pull the weeds in my garden any day, but I hadn't. That I was smelling the air and I hadn't appreciated it. That I had a beautiful gift; I'm alive. I'm able to feel tremendous pain in my heart for my friend who I've loved for so long. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without her then; I don't want to think about what it will be like soon, without her.

In the darkness of the night, I sat on my lawn and wept. I stared at the lone and delicate white flower I had planted - it stood alone in the rock garden near my front door. It stood tall, moved with the breeze and drank the air. Just like my friend. In the darkness of the night, the flower was still beautiful, still alive, and still shone in the moonlight. Like my friend.  

She gave me many gifts in my childhood; I'll keep those to myself for now. I can't open that well or I won't be able to finish.

Most of all she gave me back my will to remember to tend to my garden. To tend to my life. To get dirty, to breathe the air, to take a minute and feel the earth and sit on wet grass in new jeans, let my feet get dirty. Stop being so practical; FEEL. LIVE. GROW. LOVE. ENJOY.

I'm going to do those things; my friend would be mad if I didn't. "Take care of you, Maureen. Be good to yourself. I'm always here if you need anything." This is what she said to me when she called me eight days ago, and we laughed and talked and spent quality time catching up.  

And she will always be present in my life, because I love her and she is a part of me. She is in my heart.

Now she is in my garden.

Reminding me of how precious life is; how important those we love are, what a gift it is to be alive and to know such incredible people.

She is and has always been a constant in my life. Her illness may take her from this world, but it cannot take her from those of us that love her.

Tend your garden. Treat your soul well; know your own heart. Believe in living life and that it is a gift. Plant the seeds that will help you bloom and grow, tear out the weeds that infiltrate the beauty that is your garden; your life. Get a little dirt under your fingernails. Dig in the dirt, sit in the rain. Smell the wind.

Because for now, for today, you can.

God Bless you, MB. You are a beautiful flower in a garden of weeds. You always have been. Can you feel me holding your hand? I am.

Cheerth....