When gardenias bloom in August

In our Richmond, Virginia yard we have three gardenia shrubs.

Two of those shrubs are tied to the yard where I grew up in Burlington, North Carolina.

The other one, a different gardenia variety came from the faculty and staff at Lakeside Elementary School when our father died.

For my sister and me, the last days of August have never left us.

On August 31, 1992, our mother said goodbye after a brief skirmish with that bum cancer.

Ten years later on September 1, 2002, we lost our father. It was just barely past midnight when his heart said I’m done.

Maybe angels conspired with the timing.

Somewhere in the world at this very moment, a child will start a new day without a mother or father.

I have no concept of what their life must be like.

Also at this very moment, there is a child that is plotting how to survive another day with a parent who is irresponsible in providing care.

Again, I have no concept of what this life must be like with an irresponsible parent.

At some point, my mother’s father deserted his wife and their three children. I don’t know how, but their mother figured out the path to survival. She raised three smart, responsible, resilient, kindhearted children with very little support.

Life for our father was a different type of survival. His parents Izetta and Charlie had ten children. Izetta and Charlie raised a good crew as well. Everyone of them graduated from high school. This was a rigid requirement.

My wife and I still enjoy puttering around in our yard. I hope we can putter in our yard for as long as we remain vertical.

As you know, summer along the east coast of America can be brutal.

Temperatures in the nineties, some days over one hundred, combined with excessively high humidity and dew points creates a hellish misery.

Often that misery is locked in place for days and sometimes weeks without a break and barely a drop of rain.

During these dry spells, we keep our shrubs and flowers in our borders watered. I don’t waste much water on our lawn.

Usually when the hot spell breaks, we’ll have some good rain. And for me, there is something magical about those rain drops from heaven.

My biology professor at Greensboro College, Kemper Callahan, would be disappointed in my lack of understanding the “secret life of plants.” Something miraculous happens from those soaking raindrops.

A shrub like a gardenia has already bloomed in the late spring. Now, the shrub is full with new shoots of green leaves.

Yet, twice this August, two of our gardenia shrubs have sprouted new flower blossoms.

When I discover those blossoms, I automatically think of my parents. They loved their flower beds and bountiful backyard garden. They had green thumbs, a love for the earth, and an appreciation for every bloom no matter if it was from a okra stalk or a gardenia shrub.

There was a lot that I failed to absorb from my parents. I regret my stubborn impenetrable head everyday of my life.

I’m certain there were many times they wanted to wring my neck like a chicken on a cool spring morning. But, they restrained themselves. Somehow, they continued to love me despite my countless faults.

It was that love that bound them together, and pushed them to sacrifice for my sister and me.

And as long as the good Lord keeps me vertical, I will love and cherish those August days when a gardenia surprises me with a bloom.

That will be my reminder of how lucky I was to be raised and loved by Louise and Bill.