Another Flower Delivery
Flashes of yellow and orange bob above the window sill moments before the knock on the kitchen door. ”Come in!” I yell from my horizontal post-surgery station on the couch.
This delivery woman has been here before and she brings this latest flower arrangement right into the living room. She pauses at the doorway, taking it all in. There are flowers from other shops now, covering every surface and spilling out of the living room and into the kitchen and dining room. Lilies, roses, daisies, Christmas cactus, house plants with unpronounceable names – they have been arriving daily, sometimes several times in a day, since my diagnosis. Many accompanied me home from the hospital. She moves a vase of lilies on the fireplace mantle to secure an advantageous spot for the new bouquet, a clear glass vase of bright Dutch tulips from a colleague.
Surveying the profusion of flowers again, she asks for the first time, “What kind of illness do you have?” as if this abundant overflow means that I am either an obscure, minor celebrity or my illness must be really, really bad.
“Ovarian cancer.”
“Oh.” Illness, not celebrity. She weighs my response against the garden in my living room. Her face telegraphs that she wishes she hadn’t asked. “Ohhhh,” the extended syllable escapes, “I am sooo very sorry.”
No, no, I want to insist. I get this many flowers because I have friends and a community of people who love me, not because they believe I am dying. And then I think, maybe I have these many friends and they believe I am dying. This gives me pause. Maybe I need to stop saying to everyone, “Don’t worry. It’s early stage. We caught it early. Great prognosis. Surgery went great. I’m fine. It’s just chemo.” Maybe I need to see what everyone else is seeing.
The words “Don’t worry” wilt on my lips and I acknowledge her sympathy with an awkward nod. “Thank you for the flowers.” Rote courtesy kicks in as she sees herself out. “See you soon.”
© 2010 Cathy Kidman
This made me think of the time in 1991 that I scratched Ramona’s truck unloading her canoe and I got you a big arrangement of roses to try and make up for it. Funny, I was just looking at my journal from that day last night.
I like that you went with reality there at the end– how often it eludes me that I can simply be honest and direct with others instead of trying to figure out what is going to make them feel better. I guess I’ll have to settle for progress.
I like how this is written. You pack a lot emotionally into a short space (and I’m not just saying that).
Cathy
The only thing that is missing in this beutiful pice is a detailed description ( in your rich way Cathy) of the face of the delivery women. Also, the flower that i will send you is a Cactus – prickly and thorni out side but soo swit inside…..