Finding Fortitude

My mother would have turned 82 on May 3. But alas, that was not in the cards as she died 36 years ago at 46 years old. I don’t want to say the day is always bittersweet, but it is always poignant. It’s keenly felt, however, I do go on about the business of the day. I’ve learned to do that, I’ve had 36 years of practice.

It’s typically this time of year, around my mother’s birthday, that my gardenias first begin to bloom. And this year, on her birthday, the first single blossom emerged. And instead of it being arranged upright toward the sun, it was appointed toward the ground, weighed down by the blossom on the branch. To record its essence, its petals, I photographed it from below. Naturally, it also captured the blue sky above. The azure highlighted its white petals to make them look even more exquisite. That’s what Painter Bob Ross used to call a happy accident.

Over the past week as I exited and entered the house, in the monotonousness of everyday life, I’d notice the gardenias. Those on the precipice of opening up, the ones that had begun to unfurl, those in full floral flare, and those in their hastened decline. I’d drop off my belongings in the car or house, snatch my phone, and quickly document the flowers that caught my fancy. I was taken by the many stages of the gardenia and took a few moments to pay homage by way of photography.

It even spurred me to do a little research about flowers. There’s a stage in plant development known as inflorescence. An intricate process, the plant undergoes a series of changes resulting in its flowering. Genetic and environmental factors impact the flower throughout inflorescence. The intricacies the plant undergoes provide insight as it journeys from floral bud to fully formed flower.

Through the freneticism of my life, the comings and goings into and out of the house, I kept thinking about those stages of the flower. Like a metaphor, I applied it to moving through the stages of life and aging. It’s so easy, as the tempest of the world swirls around us, to stay tight in the safety of that bud. Or, full of fear, to decide to check out of the fight toward a premature demise.

But I know even delicate flowers find fortitude. I have chosen to reside in the space of expansion, open and eager to soak up the sun, staying curious. I don’t want to stay tight in the bud, afraid of what’s around me, fearful. I don’t want to age prematurely, whither, and fade away either. I am eager to keep learning, actively participate in my own inflorescence, and to continue unfurling.