Turning 50 - 62 Days to Go -- Mama's Friends: The Flower Girls

No, they didn't call themselves "The Flower Girls," but that's what they were. Norma (my mom), Faye, and Ruth. All were preacher's wives, all lived in the same community, attended the same church (Mama and Faye were married to men serving in ministries outside the pastorate), and all beautiful, strong-minded, creative, and delightful.

My mother gave me her tiny inheritance money for the down payment of my first home, which I purchased when I was 30. It wasn't much, but it meant the world to me that she wanted to bless me that way. I've learned since that in order to make a house "mine," I have to change some things, inside and/or out. That first little cottage measured approximately 24 x 40, had a kitchen, dining room, living room, 2 bedrooms, and 2 baths, and I shared it first with my brother and then with my best friend. We replaced a toilet, painted the walls, replaced the kitchen counter tops and painted the cabinets, added 2 large rooms, and built a deck. We also put a bright yellow, 1960's era free-standing fireplace/stove in the new den, with beautiful Mexican tile under it. It was a gorgeous room.

But even before those internal changes, Mama and the other flower girls helped to make the exterior a true home. My middle brother, Amos, man-handled the tiller to create flower beds around the entire perimeter of the fenced backyard. The ladies showed up that same day to help create a virtual paradise. Mama sat on her bottom literally all day long, lining the beds with monkey grass (liriope), most of which had been dug from her own yard. Faye and Ruth had also brought cuttings from their gardens, and by days' end, we had an antique rose, several crepe myrtles, a bed of hostas and calladium, and a variety of other beautiful, flowering plants. I don't believe I ever expressed to them adequately just how much their labor of love meant to me. Thank you, ladies. You made that house a home.

The Flower Girls were drawn together by a number of things. Flowers, yes, and gardening. Mama and Faye owned their homes and had gone after their respective lawns with a vengeance, creating outdoor rooms before they were popular, coaxing azaleas to bloom in soil that was too alkaline, finding antique flowers and other rare specimens, and sprinkling in a heavy dose of the Southern standards -- forsythia, quince, nandina, and lots of monkey grass. Ruth still lived in a parsonage, but she was no less dedicated to her "borrowed" yard, and as long as she and B.F. occupied the manse, it was a true showplace.

On several occasions, they made trips to see famous gardens and raid massive nurseries. They also loved antique and junk-store shopping, and Faye and Ruth left a large fingerprint on Mama's house, with their decorating finesse. Years after Faye and Ed boldly painted their textured wallpaper a bold cranberry color, I followed suit to paint an entire living room that was papered in texture -- I went for an off-white color, but Faye led the way. Ruth once gave me a beautiful blue bud vase with a fluted top, and I treasure it to this day, placing the first jonquils of spring in it every year.

When Mama began to lose her mind, literally, to Pick's Disease, Ruth and Faye stayed strong and near, in spite of the fact that Mama became a person none of us could recognize. When Mama tried to paint Al Gore being chased by a wild hog out of the textured ceiling of her bedroom, dropping an entire gallon of paint on her bedspread and carpet, Faye called me home to help. And Faye was still there when we needed to have an intervention to end her driving privileges and arrange for daycare.

Ruth and B.F. were Mama's favorite people during those early years of her dementia, and they were unfailingly supportive of her. She was a handful, in public exhibiting outrageous, uninhibited behaviors, and in private, pouring out her woes and frustrations ad nauseum. They just hung steady, loving her, supporting her, encouraging her. When Mama seemed to turn to them and away from family, they loved us, too, and eventually we found some solace with one another as we watched this bright shining one we had loved so much deteriorate so thoroughly into an unrecognizable shadow of what she had once been. They retired and moved 70 miles away, but still remained a presence in our lives, praying and encouraging us as we continued the journey.

The week that Mama died, Faye sat with me for long hours in the nursing home. She held Mama's hand and reminisced aloud about the things they had done together. She was as delighted as I when Mama squeezed her hand in recognition, after weeks of recognizing and responding very rarely. She kissed her gently when she told her goodbye, and helped me to know that though this might be the most difficult thing I would ever face, I could do it, with God's strength.

The Flower Girls added so much beauty to the world around them. Their friendship was cherished by many, individually and as a group. Thank you, Faye and Ruth, for loving my mother and sharing your lives with us all.