Grandma Isiphine

Two years ago, my maternal grandmother passed away. She suffered from Alzheimer’s and the last few years were very dark and sad. My uncle was basically renting my grandmother’s house to "caregivers" who lived there while she was dying. They gave her no care whatsoever and were systematically removing every bit of her mark on the house that had been hers and my grandfather’s since it had been built over 50 years before. My and my mother’s complaints fell on deaf ears and the result was frustration and estrangement from other family members. We always visited Grandma Isiphine, though our visits were duly reported by the "caregivers" to our other relatives in detail. This post, though, is not about that. It’s about my grandma and her flowers.

My grandmother loved her flowers. She planted irises and roses and anything that would bloom. She loved to watch her garden grow. She had a white rose bush that is rumored to have come down with the family when they came for the land run. There is no possible way for me to verify that legend and given my maternal family’s penchant for tall tales it is entirely possible that it’s false. However, it is also excellent blog fodder. So on the off chance that it’s true, that tidbit stays. At the very least the white rose bush was very old and really was antique. She also had another that was a wild red rose bush. The blooms were as big as a baby’s face.

The day of her funeral I knew I would never again visit her home. I would never see the irises bloom every spring in their deep purples and bright whites. I would not smell the lilac that had grown for over 50 years.

Husband knew this was hard for me and was hard for my mother as well. He and my dad stopped at Home Depot and bought shovels and drove us over to her house after the funeral. They dug up bulbs and part of the lilac bush for us. Later that week my mother and I planted them.

I was worried they wouldn’t make it. The lilac in particular was looking rather weak. In fact, it looked like a toddler had simply put a stick in the mud and forgotten it. For a year I worried over that stick. Last spring it sprouted leaves. I sighed in relief. This year it is even heartier. The bulbs are fuller.

The lilac:

The lilac with the iris around it (they need to be thinned they are so full!):

I know that some, even family, may think it is macabre or disrespectful to have dug up the bulbs and the lilac after the funeral. You must know that was never the intention. A stranger lives in her house now and may or may not appreciate the hard work that went into her garden. I have the bulbs she chose. I planted them here at my house to enjoy. I planted them here at my house to remind me of her. Now every spring, I’m reminded not of the darkness of my Grandma Isiphine’s last days, but of the brightness of her life.

Monday I’ll post another side of Grandma Isiphine. You won’t want to miss it.
 

Tagged as: chilihead, death, gardening, grandma, roses