A Tin Can, A Paper Towel And A Rubber Band

I thought I was fine, that I had worked through most of the sadness. I can drive past Grandma’s house without breaking into tears. I can even talk about her to classmates when they want to know some of my history. I’ve used some of her sayings as examples when people need to know the “real southern way” to say something. All in all, it’s been a pretty emotionally stable past month. That is, until tonight.

Brian called from work needing his eye drops with a side of Laffy Taffy. Even though those two things go together like peas and ducks, when Brian calls in need, I come running. I convinced Thor to pause “The Nightmare Before Christmas” right in the middle of Jack’s Lament and with surprisingly little fuss, we loaded into the car to head to Lowe’s.

Freshly wiped lawnmowers glistened in the setting sun. Grills of all sizes and types were aligned like soldiers guarding the entrance doors. Thor made commentary on everything he saw in his rapid fire style that always mesmerizes me. The doors slid open with their mechanical welcome and a burst of cool air hit us like a wave. Hand-in-hand we made our way into the bustle of the afternoon crowd, down the cool grey aisle, searching for the man we both love.

Thor’s shyness seemed to be directly proportional to the distance we traveled into the store. At five feet inside the building, he started to bury his head in my hip. At ten feet, both arms were around my waist and he was begging me to “Hole me Mama, Hole me”. Lifting a 42 pound 3-year-old isn’t an easy task but it’s doable. He wrapped his legs around my hips and twisted his arms around my shoulders, burying his head into my neck. We continued on our journey and finally made it to the appliance department. Brian was there, eyes red rimmed but relieved.

When Thor was comfortable enough to disengage the death grip he had around my torso, he leapt immediately into his daddy’s awaiting arms. They sat down at the cluttered desk and Thor’s shell began to crack. He started pressing buttons on the phone and then typing in a language native only to preschoolers. When I asked him what he was doing, his round eyes trimmed in dark lashes, deep with thought darted quickly to meet my gaze. “I’m woukin’ Mama! I godda make sum monies”. I laughed. How many times had he heard that saying from Brian or me? The shrill chirp of Brian’s department phone shattered our moment of pretend play. Brian had to leave to take care of a customer issue at the front of the store so we had to make our visit short.

I asked Thor if he would like to get a cart and ride around. I needed to price some flower bulbs, since the planting season is quickly approaching. With much relief, he easily agreed and we made our way back to the front of the store.

Red Cart----Check!
Thor secured in Red Cart----Check!
Making our way to Outside Lawn and Garden---Check!

The smell of fertilizer and potting soil hung heavy in the damp evening air. The sun’s rays were barely peeking over the horizon, showering everything in a pink haze, making labels difficult to read. Thor and I glided slowly around the perimeter of the department. Huge pots loomed above us in all of their highly decorated glory. Stacked bags of rocks shocked me with their prices and made me proud of all of the rocks I had “acquired” for free this summer. Aisles of do-it-yourself this and do-it-yourself that were splayed out before us.

After rounding another corner and admiring a gargoyle garden statute that would surely be mine, I found myself among the numerous bags of bulbs. Each bag contained an array of small brown cocoons that promised to bring forth some form of beauty the following year. I began to take in the pictures of the different varieties of flowers. Hyacinths of purple and pink looked extremely promising when I noticed that they just don’t take that much care. Tulips of all sizes, colors and shapes seemed to pour out of the top of the crates they were attempting to be contained in. I picked up a few of the bags and studied the information on the back, trying to decide if I could keep them alive.

Our cart circled to the back of the bulb section and I was bombarded with pictures of daffodils and irises of all types. My throat suddenly grew tight and tears began to burn my eyes. I bowed my head immediately and tried to take some clearing gulps of air. Thor noticed and asked “You ok mama?” I said I was and asked if he was ready to go. As if he knew what was happening, he didn’t make a fuss. He agreed to go to the car and I lifted him to my hip making my escape to the parking lot.

I fastened Thor into his car seat through tears that were now burning my cheeks. I thought I was past this point. I thought that I had made it to the spot where the pain of loss is numbed with a little time. It was obvious that I was not at that spot, not even close. I sat in the car and sobbed quietly.

The pictures on the bulbs danced in my memory and mixed with the memories of Easter dinners at my Grandma’s house. Then, her yard had been covered in hundreds of daffodils and irises of all types. She viewed her arrangement of the bulbs as an art form and she excelled in their upkeep. Flowers were her passion and taking care of her garden was what brought her great peace. When the weather grew muggy, her grounds were brought to life with aroma. The heavy fragrance of so many flowers would cling to your hair and clothes seeming to saturate their very fibers. At the height of her floral growing season, Grandma would bring the family small bouquets. They were always arranged in an empty tin can with a paper towel wrapped around the outside, secured with a rubber band. I’m sure there was some type of functional purpose for that other than decoration but I always considered it very “Grandma”.

In the summer and fall since my Grandma’s death, I have planned how to arrange her flowers in my own planters at home so that I never forget my past and the woman who was always such a huge part of it. Being bombarded with the feelings of loss and anguish while looking through the bulbs at Lowe’s, caught me off guard. I saw the bulbs like little promises of old memories and new memories alike. The very memories that I find so important in defining my heritage, I realize Thor will not have. That makes me sad but determined at the same time. I will carry on my Grandma’s memory in the best way that I can think of. I will continue the tradition of empty tin cans, a paper towel and a rubber band. Sometimes it’s the simple things that are the most defining of a person we’ve lost.


~Written 08/05/2009