A tiny bud

This past Saturday held another one of those moments that brings me up short. I was walking across the rug in the living room when something on the floor caught my eye. Sadly I realized that it was a walking iris bud that had somehow been prematurely disconnected from the plant, just a day before it was set to open its gorgeous delicate petals. The sadness I felt in that moment was so incredibly disproportionate to the situation at hand. My thoughts: This little bud will never be a flower. There is nothing in the world, as much as I may want to, that I could do to make the tightly wrapped petals unfold.

Kali was there with me. I found myself saying out loud to Kali that this little bud just doesn't have now what it takes to become a flower. Sunday morning I watched as three other buds slowly opened up, revealing their striking purple and dark brown centers. Three flowers bloomed and one remained closed. Now it sits shriveled beside me on the desk no longer strikingly different from the other flowers that bloomed for one day and then shriveled.

Yesterday a wonderfully caring friend gave me a CD that has the song "Nothing is Lost on the Breath of God" on it. As I listened to it last evening the line "no flower too brief in its glory" stuck out to me. I told Jason through tears last evening that that song in so many ways articulates what I hope and wish to believe about the world. And about Nora's life and death. But clearly I'm not quite there yet. That little flower bud for me was a flower that didn't get its moment in glory. From my perspective, it was cut short too soon. Something about that little bud laying there felt tragic and sad to me.