Hometown Rankin - June & July 2017

So a few weeks ago, I was in our backyard building a fire in our fire
pit. I had decided to dispose of some sensitive paperwork that really
should have been shredded, but burning was simply more convenient
and certainly more fun. In the closing of my grandmother’s estate, I
had stored countless banking statements and papers that needed to
be discarded but were too sensitive to just put in the trash–and still
held value in my heart. So I poured a glass of wine and my husband
and son helped load up the fire pit. I recalled funny stories about my
beloved grandmother as they continued to crumple up papers and
put them below the logs. Then we lit them.
The fire struggled to catch. My wood was wet. I decided to add
some kindling from a pot we keep nearby. That’s when I saw the
blooms. For 30 or 40 years, my grandmother had a pot of succulents
on her back porch that stood year-round on a little dime-store plant
stand in the rain, sun, sleet and occasional snow. She was a master
gardener and yet these succulents were the only plant-life I brought
home with me after her death. I’d had them now for four years and
they live on my back patio next to a big fat pot of kindling. I looked
down and they were in full bloom–and they hadn’t been the day before.
I’ve never seen them bloom. Ever. I didn’t even know they would.
So, I’ve decided they were blooming just for me. As if to say, it’s ok to
let go–just never forget.
Coincidence? Maybe. But it serves as a wonderful reminder that we’re
never far apart. The truth is that the bond we share with those we
love is a bond never lost or broken–not even by death. Death just
changes the dimensions–like water, evaporating into steam.
Or like a redbird sitting on a window ledge singing, “My spirit will
live on forever there within your heart.” n
Hometown Rankin • 49