Ms. Shirley is known for being particular about how our campus looks. She is in charge of Public Relations, and she pours herself into her job of welcoming families from all over the world to our school. She works to cut through the communication barriers that internationals face. One of the ways she makes them feel welcome is to tend the flower beds herself. Beautiful flowers mean 'home' in any language. This is her story.
She was a beautiful young woman. Her dark curls and starburst blue eyes were accentuated by her cherry red lipstick smile. She wore feminine flowing skirts. It was easy to see why her husband had chosen her. Their young love produced two handsome sons. But happily-ever-after took a turn for the worse. It was not the paradise she had dreamed of. Her husband turned to alcohol. When he was drunk, he was cruel. She would have put up with his unkindness to her, but when he turned on their boys, it was more than she was willing to allow. She chose to raise those boys without his help. She filed for divorce. It was not easy. The years took their toll. Lines began to crease her face and her shoulders displayed the weight of her burdens. You could rarely see it in her attitude, though. Even when the boys were struggling to make good grades in school, her smile twinkled when she greeted you. I never suspected all she was enduring.
As time passed, it seemed that the sun was smiling on Ms. Shirley. She met a man named Jack. He was a kind man, a good man. They enjoyed spending time together. He loved her and she loved him. He proposed marriage. She accepted. They planned their wedding, but rainclouds darkened the horizon. Her older son was not in favor of their union. He said that if she married Jack, he would move out. He was too young to live on his own. She did not want him subjected to his father's drunken rages. She had a choice to make, true love or mother love. When she broke the news to Jack he could not hold back the tears. Her starburst eyes were deep pools of tears as well, but she had to finish raising her sons. She had to choose their welfare once again.
She yearned to be Jack's wife. She told me her story of love lost one rainy day, a heart-wrenching story, to be sure, but she had confidence that she had made the right choice.
Jack went away to let her raise her sons, but now her sons are responsible young men and good fathers to their own children. Jack came back. He continued courting her. They each again found delight in the company of the other. Once again he asked her to marry him. Once again she said yes. They were planning their retirement. They anticipated many blissful twilight years together. They went furniture shopping, and dreamed of the day when they could make their home together at last.
But last week she received the tragic news that Jack was found in his
apartment. He was only 65, but he has crossed the threshold into eternity, leaving her alone. She is not his widow, but the pain is just as real. Her plans are shattered. She does not understand. She gives so much to others. Why has she once again missed her opportunity?
On the day of his funeral, she came early to weed the flower beds of our school to prepare for guests on campus. The fuchsia blooms did not utter even a whisper of the tears that watered them. Who could have blamed her if she had neglected that chore, and yet, again, on her knees she dug and weeded to welcome others home.
