The Miracle Flower (43rd Post)

In my freshman year of college, I accepted my new friend’s invitation to replace her dorm roommate, who had dropped out of college. Accompanied by a feeling of great joy, I moved into Debbie’s room on the 4th floor of our dorm. (Dear New Reader see previous posts). Once settled in, I found the 4th floor, like the 3rd floor I had departed from, to be populated with many wonderful women. Soon, I had an additional new set of friends. As Marcel Proust said “Let us be grateful for the people who make us happy. They are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” And my friends certainly helped me to blossom. I was very happy to be rooming with Debbie. Or as someone said, “A faithful companion is a sure anchor.”  As kismet would have it, Debbie turned out to be a true anchor for my aimlessly sailing ship, otherwise known as TBI, PTSD, and stunted learning curve symptoms. 

As in the past, I had found the necessary help when needed from my former Villages and kind strangers. Again, I soon learned Debbie and my new friends helped me turn some of the tart lemons in my life into lemonade. And even though I dreamed of a symptom-free life, and, solving the puzzle of me, I learned a lemonade life has some very sweet moments. Soon after Debbie and I became dorm roommates, our college held a “Parents Day.” The entire freshmen student body’s parents were invited to the campus to attend a variety of activities and presentations. Debbie sometimes experienced moments of homesickness. She was delighted when her parents accepted the invitation. She was also looking forward to me meeting her parents. My parents declined the invitation. The cited distance and financial reasons. As opposed to Debbie I did not experience homesickness.  Nor, was I surprised by their decision. The fly in the ointment for me was sorrow. Once again, I was going to miss out on something normal -  sharing Parents' Day with my parents. Feeling like an orphan, out of place and wounded, I decided to hide out in my dorm room on Parents' Day. I knew venturing out on that special day would only result in increasing my pain of not being a part of the festivities. 

On that fateful day, I closed my dorm room door and tucked myself safely inside the room. The closed-door would help me ignore all the cheerful sounds from parents and students in the dorm’s hallways. My plan was working, until, later in the afternoon I heard my dorm room door being opened from the outside. Feeling surprised and a bit alarmed, I looked up, and in walked Debbie and her mother. I was stunned, felt nervous, and could feel my heart begin to pound in my chest. I stood there knowing now what a deer in headlights felt like. Debbie’s mom smiled at me and said she wanted to meet me, and had a gift for me. Her mom radiated energy, warmth, and welcome. She held a large single flower in her hand. She explained the college had presented all the visiting moms with a flower. She wanted me to have hers. All my inner neglect vanished. My heart was so deeply touched, I felt beyond words. Somehow, I realized there was only silence in the room. Her mom had been waiting patiently for my response. Magically - it felt like to me - some words bubbled up and I graciously thanked her and accepted the flower. It turned out her mom was not finished. She went on to invite me to join her, her husband, and Debbie at dinner that evening. I hesitated in responding as I was battling with feelings of uncertainty and being an intruder.  Without missing a beat, she smiled, looked me in the eyes, and gently, however, with authority, said she would not take no for an answer. Yearning to join them beat out uncertainty. I acquiesced and accepted the invitation to dine. Debbie then refocused me on the visit and we showed her mom our room decor and student stuff. Debbie and her mom then said they needed to return to the festivities. Her mom hugged me goodbye. With promises of seeing me later that evening, they left. After we parted, my heart returned to its normal beat as I stood in the middle of the room, weeping and looking at the flower I held tightly in my hand. I felt so grateful for being included and not forgotten. I internally embraced the kindness of this woman who Debbie called Mom. 

I spied an empty soda can sitting on my desk. I filled the can with water and gave my flower a home. I loved that flower and wanted this treasure to last forever. To my surprise and delight, the cut flower kept its bloom and green stem for over a month. Debbie and I called her “The Miracle Flower.” Anyone who came to my dorm room, I immediately showed the flower and spoke of Deb’s beloved mom. Magical huh?! It was to me as I believe “Magic is desire made real.” - Deb Harkness. And the flower did last quite a while.

Later, Debbie returned to our dorm room. We dressed for dinner, at a local restaurant with her parents. I was feeling both terrified and excited. I had not had much experience in dealing with other’s parents and families who wanted to be together and also enjoyed the experience. I bravely faced the feeling that I was very much a nervous wreck. Doing so did not change much of anything, however, at least I faced the facts and carried on. As the saying goes - “courage is being afraid and still going forward.” 

Debbie’s Dad turned out to be just as lovely, warm and welcoming as her mom. At dinner, I felt awkward and tense. My TBI and PTSD symptoms stumbled in and out as we visited over dinner. However, they were just so gracious, funny, and endearing. And overlooked my oops. I was so glad I came, and in spite of my troubles, I really wanted to be with them all. I was unable to relax due to the need to monitor myself. However, I felt indeed this was a wonderful lemonade moment to always treasure. The evening ended. Debbie and I hugged her parents and said our goodbyes. I looked forward to seeing her parents again.

I was relieved to return “home” and just escape to sleep. I was exhausted. It had been a very long day with overwhelming surprises. As I closed my eyes to head out to dreamland, my heart whispered to me. She said she felt a sense of contentment she had not experienced before. I agreed. The day turned out very differently than I had planned. I was not neglected or unwanted. I had been held and welcomed by Debbie, her mom, and her dad. I was included. I belonged. Her parents had helped my soul to blossom.  My anchor, Debbie was sleeping in the bed across the room from me.  I smiled as I drifted off to sleep. My lemonade life tasted perfectly sweet, so perfectly sweet.