Flowers for John

John gave them to me while he was working at Holiday Oil over on Center Street in Orem; they were still crisp after nearly 30 years. It was a second job. By day he worked at fixing cars. I stayed home with our three very young children in a small, cramped duplex in Lehi. The saving grace to this place was the backyard. Shadowed by overgrown foliage and a fence, it provided a nice play area for the kids and I to relax outside. We also went camping as often as we could in American Fork Canyon, commonly known as AF Canyon. This was in the days of cloth diapers so camping with infants was arduous work. But, hey, at least it got us away. Money was tight. His parents were forever breathing down us for one thing or another. Looking back, I have often wondered if things would have been different if they had given us a little bit more space. Maybe not. Who knows? Hind sight is always 20/20.
Holiday Oil was a simple gas station and mini-mart. Customers drove in to get gas, maybe a drink, the gallon of milk for tomorrow’s breakfast, or just a candy bar. John worked the night shift as a cashier, easy enough. At the time, the store was selling pressed felt flowers. John bought me one of each type. I really treasured them even though the relationship was anything to be.
The strain of the circumstances finally gave way and broke. We split-up. My family was in California, unable to assist. Knowing I was powerless, sympathetic members of the community came together to help me. Just as I was about to move back to California, John went against the better judgment of his family. Resigned, he moved back with me. They disowned him for awhile. We stayed together for four years before the situation completely crashed and burned for good. For 10 years we battled the courts for custody of our three growing children. He was without question my worst enemy. Nothing could be further from the truth. In the meantime, we both moved back to Utah. And as much as I hated the thought of living in Utah, I knew it was the healthier of the two places for the kids.
The flowers followed me, safely hidden away in a place where only special memories are allowed. I don’t know why I saved them. Buried was the idea that this was someone special. Our friendship went back to the days when we were missionaries serving our church in the same general area. He was a missionary for two years, I for eighteen months we maintained a deep friendship the entire juncture. I allowed him to replace my high school sweetheart in my soul, which was not an easy task. My high school sweetheart was married just prior to my leaving for the mission and it was blow not only to me but to my family who loved him like their own. So John was up against filling a huge void that he realistically could not fill. Never able to let go, I held on, keeping the emotions hidden. Anger was easier to deal with.
Time moves on. Our three children grew up. One of them had two of their own. Those two legally became mine. One of those kids has an unrestrained sense of curiosity. She loves to rummage through the boxes, pulling out old clothes and then claiming them as her own. Many are the times when she really can and with a little mending here and there, they fit her just fine. This incredible child also has the innate ability to bring new life to the old. She did this with the flowers. When she found them, automatically, they were hers – of course! They were pretty! And in her world she could be a sweeping bride, gracefully gliding down the aisle holding this magnificent bouquet and married to her Prince Darling. Except…they were not hers…and I was not ready to part with them.
By this point, John was dying of liver cancer at only 51 years old. Our relationship had never improved, if anything it was worse. He was still my arch enemy. Still, I felt a sense of sorrow for him and his family, especially his wife and his mother. He and his wife had been married a little over two years. She was nice, made an effort to be kind to our kids. I felt for his mother having to watch her son go through this. A couple of days before he died our oldest child showed me video footage of John trying to break a wishbone with his five year old child from another marriage. He couldn’t and it was pathetic. His wife was trying to put together a montage of pictures for the funeral and asked me for footage of the kids. I sent her over 40 images going back to the days of the mission. While he was partially coherent he wanted to watch the movie, Rigaletto, which we had. Despite my own busy schedule, I looked literally everywhere for it just so that he could at least hear it. It really haunted me that I couldn’t find it. After going downstairs to retrieve one an item for the daycare’s snack, I took a chance and moved a box. Oh my word! There it was on top of the box under the box that I moved. In a rush I called my son, who quickly made a trip from Payson, an hour away to get it for him. When my own dad was dying, I scrambled to find a film that was made in 1956 on his ship with Audie Murphy, the U.S.S. Los Angeles just so he, too, could see it before he died. And even though my ex-husband and I did not like each other and even though I was banned from the funeral, I felt something deep down inside that caused me to want to provide all of this. It gave such peace even though there was absolutely nothing to gain from doing so.
I woke up at exactly 2:05 on the morning of November 22, 2017 and could not go to sleep. Getting up to walk around and sip a drink of juice I thought, “If he hasn’t died yet, something’s up.” So, I made a feeble attempt to go back to sleep. Around 8:30 that morning I called my daughter to check on her and the situation. Tearfully, she said that he had passed at 2:05 that morning. My heart sank. The fight was over. As I write this, I cannot describe the chunk that I lost that moment and thereafter. I felt for my older children who had just lost their father at such an early age. Our youngest son was to be married only two days after he buried his father and they did not always see eye to eye! Talk about ambivalent emotions!
In a way, I had the last say. They were the last thing put atop his coffin and buried with him. My daughter made sure of this. A peace offering if you will, tied in a purple sash-his favorite color. No animosity. No regrets. Flowers for John that he originally gave to me in a sentimental moment returned with the same intent.
Kelli L McDonald
March 5, 2018