Daffodils have been abloom in Pacifica this past month. I love this flower — it is so delightful, so innocent, so cheerful, yet, sadly, so short-lived. At the end of January, the green shoots are standing tall. I was excited to see them. I knew the flowers were coming. Seemingly, overnight, the blossoms bloomed. There they were, in their yellow glory. But, now, the stalks are leaning and the flowers are beginning to fade.
Isaiah writes, “All flesh is grass, and all its loveliness is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades…” Daffodils as well as all flowers represent the brevity of life. I remember the lives that have faded from my life, and one life, especially, that was cut off before it was fully abloom.
As you know, my dad died four months ago. The hardest death I’ve experienced. Everyday, I think of him…and the ache…the sense of loss…the sadness overwhelms me. He was no daffodil, he was like, as my niece Katie described, the redwoods he loved. He lived a long life, his flower never faded, but the tree was struck down by the Great Inevitable; and the subsequent loss has shook our family like no other event. His presence will be missed, his voice, though many times formidable, is sought for…many changes are going on in my life right now, changes I’d normally ask his advice on. He was the one I turned to for stability, for wisdom, for continuity. The strong pier I latched my little barque to. And now it’s flooding, and the pier is gone. Thankfully my Heavenly Father provides an eternal mooring.
My uncle died six years ago. He lived a full and active life. His bloom lasted as long as one would expect. He was a teacher who was a perpetual student. His home was filled with thousands of books, a haven for a bookworm like me. His homes were the places where I fell in love with books, and for that I will always be thankful and blessed. He traveled, he entertained, and he only slowed down a month before his blossom faded.
My friend’s fiancé died six years ago as well. I didn’t know him very well, but I know my friend, and in many ways I knew him because of the reflection of his life in hers. He brought her so much joy and happiness and through her happiness, I could tell he was a great man, a beautiful flower — a flower that sadly faded too soon. A bloom that is painfully missed to this day.
Finally, this day seven years ago, my family and I (and many others I know) remember a flower that didn’t have the time to fully bloom or ever fade. He died at 22 just reaching the full, vibrant bloom of youth. He was a beloved son to his mother as well as other women, including me. He was a beloved brother to all my children, all ten of them. Many of them mentioned that Jesse was the only one that knew them. He was like that – he noticed you and he listened to you.
I was an overprotective homeschooling mom in the middle of a divorce when this kid came bounding down the stairs with my boys into my home. I smelled trouble. So I was apprehensive — but this kid’s irrepressible charm and contagious smile won me over. At a time in my life when I felt not only invisible, but defeated, dejected and definitely down in the dumps (I was progressing in my housekeeping, though), Jesse noticed me too, he even called me “sexy” when I felt and I am sure looked quite the opposite. I am still amazed at the capacity and depth of love that not only my children, but their friends felt for this young man. And to this day…we miss our Jesse, our “Jelly Donut”.
Leo Buscaglia wrote: “What love we’ve given, we’ll have forever. What love we fail to give, will be lost for all eternity.” We who loved Jesse, Robert, Uncle Bill and Dad will always have that. This life is so short….the blossoms bloom for a short time, then the flowers fade, let us heed the psalmist’s admonition: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Wisdom that will cherish our brief stay here on earth, and those who are among us.
The daffodils and the Scriptures agree.