Sunflowers

For as long as I can remember, the sunflower has been my favorite bloom. They have graced my gardens, filled vases and adorned my jewelry. There have been times that I am certain that my husband has intentionally mowed them down when they threatened to overtake the yard after 'accidentally' being planted by visiting wild birds, while I carefully mow around each one giving it full room to grow and blossom.

Until recently, I had not bothered to reflect on my love for these admittedly gangly, overly tall blooms. As a child, our yard was flower-free in order to keep my mother sneeze-free. Our table was never blessed with bouquets nor our gardens with a profusion of petals. I always assumed that my passion for the sunflower arose from those years of flower famine.

Then, one day this past July my Grandfather suddenly died. With his death came all of those little tasks; phone calls, obituaries, hymns and of course flowers. My cousin Bridget and I went looking to find an arrangement that would represent one of the greatest influences in our lives. Of course, being 650 miles apart we were forced to complete our searching online. I pulled up the website for a florist back home and the first arrangement to come on the screen was filled with sunflowers. Golden faces floating on a sea of green. I waffled with my conscience for a few moments, wondering if I was choosing these for me or for him. Then a gentle tug at my heart prompted me to click the email button to Bridget sending her my choice.

The coming days kept me from thinking about that little nudge against my heart. Then came a day, a week or so after the funeral and we were visiting Grandma at her home. The day was sunny and a gentle breeze wafted through the house. The windows were open and we were nearly drowned out by the chittering of birds at the feeders just outside of the kitchen. I saw Aunt Sandy part the curtains and the air was filled with dozens of Gold Finches flying for the safety of the cornfields around the house. She glanced at the feeder and then looked to Grandma. 'Did Dad plant those sunflowers, or did the birds drop them?' she asked. 'No, Dad planted those', Grandma responded. Aunt Sandy smiled and thought outloud 'he loved sunflowers.' My breath caught at my throat for a split second. He loved sunflowers! How did I not know that? I had seen sunflowers at their home for years and always assumed that they were one of Grandma's many projects. For years we had shared a passion that I never knew about until it was too late.

But, is it too late? Surely not. Thanks to this shared love, every time I see a sunflower I can't help but think of him. What could be more beautiful than this wonderful reminder of a great man? When I find a sunflower hidden somewhere in my day, I'm forced to smile, sometimes tearily but a smile nonetheless. It keeps him close and carries my heart back home in a flash of gold.

Lloyd Stedman 1921-2010