Petals. Marti Eicholz
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hope of a new day. Mary decorated the couches with an antique floral look. Adam, being in the furniture business, made sure they invested only in high-quality and comfort especially when selecting his favorite, the large brown leather armchair. The floor was old-fashioned parquet with a blend of deep homely browns. The walls were the greens of summer gardens meeting a bold white baseboard.
Mary loved house plants but never had room for them before now. There were plenty of them in all the rooms. There were plants of all sizes, large and small ones with long and short leaves.
Adam watched as Mary watered and groomed the plants. As she turned noticing his gaze with a soft voice, “I love days when the sun is shining into the windows and the leaves glow with this deep green color. I feel like the house is part of the outside only more peaceful and comfortable.”
Adam rose from his comfy chair and gave Mary a warm embrace.
Adam enjoyed the loft, his study where he did paperwork and designed new marketing campaigns for up-coming collections. He needed his private time and space to re-energize.
The kitchen had small windows with mini blinds. There was a ceiling fan like it or not, it kept the kitchen cool on hot days. Mary took great pains to work out the details of the design so that an amazing wooden table would fit perfectly in the kitchen area. A door led from the kitchen to a small porch where occasionally the family dined outside.
The house had three spacious bedrooms filled with natural light, one for Scotty and another for sewing projects. For the master bedroom Mary selected a soft white carpet and painted the walls a nice light green.
Walking through the white painted front door made Mary feel relaxed. She paused in the hallway and looked steadily and intently at the display of flower art thinking it does not matter if you are rich or poor flowers bring pleasure to one’s world, making you feel happy. Flowers make me happy.
My mother could not find pleasure and perfection in her real world but each day she creates pleasure and perfection through her nature art. Art saved my mother. I felt so betrayed and angry when I left home that I left my love for them at their doorstep. Through therapy I learned that it was OK to put distance between me and my mother and other members of my family. I maintain only respect for them as my family. Following a lot of self-exploration, I am having compassion for what life is like with a mental illness.
The three of them, Adam, Mary, and Scotty settled in and returned to their established routines: Adam as a traveling furniture salesman and Mary working from home two days a week. The other three days she took Scotty with her to the fabric shop.
Customers found Scotty a joy as one noted, “I’ll never forget your chubby cheeks and how they dimple when you smile.”
His smile ignited inner laughter and his eyes shined. He stood so still, eyeing any activity. Shoppers would stop and say, “What an alert baby.” or “Lady, you have an intelligent baby there.”
Yes, there was just something about Scotty. He was very engaging, very observant. Mary thought his intelligence was clear from the very first moments of his life. I have this vivid memory when he was born of the nurses taking him to clean him off and he was looking all around. He was alert from the very first second. And he is still fabulously observant.
Mary sitting in an old winged armchair, legs crossed, and fingers intertwined over one knee, leaned forward, and watched her boy in his bright red sweater, stacking colorful bricks until they tumbled, then giggling and clapping as he started over.
He bounced in his highchair like he was dancing to music only he could hear. Before eating and after eating, he wanted his favorite book. With each turn of the page he pointed to the food, learning to count, and learning to speak.
One day Scotty was in his playpen. Around his shoulders was his baby quilt, worn as a cape might, as if it gave him superpowers. He was adventurous, having no fear and after several falls got right back up and tried again. Refusing to stay he climbed out of it. Mary gave him a facial expression to let him know not to climb out of the playpen again.
A few days later Scotty refused to stay in his playpen and climbed out. Mary yelled, “No!” and he stopped, proving he understood “No!” and would stop.
A week or two later when Scotty yelled “No!” and pointed his finger, returning the glare he learned from his mother, Mary knew her son was asserting himself. Relieved, she hoped he would maintain that perseverance right into his teen and adult years when his stubbornness would be “determination.”
Mary marveled at the way her toddler, at such a young age, had a mind completely his own. She saw his behavior in a new light the day Scotty took a running leap and landed on top of his dad. Mary thought Scotty is questioning whether he will lean on him. Adam tolerated the landing saying, “Yes, I will be here for you.”
Mary wondered why he has not questioned me. Did he feel he already knew? I wonder myself. Am I a person someone could lean on? I have doubts.
There were many moments when she did not understand how she would make it until bedtime. The constant demands, the need of a child that had a precise vision of what he wanted----exactly that way and no other way. Sometimes it was the way you center the plate exactly to his chair, or how his socks go on, or exactly how the picture of the pink dolphin needed to look---with brave eyes, not sad eyes. He was a laser beam, and it did not satisfy him until it was exactly right.
One day Mary hid in the pantry, compulsively eating chips and/or dark chocolate, wishing she were at work or wishing for bedtime or wanting to drink and never stop. Scotty knew as he quietly huddled by the door. When the door opened, he was there waiting to hug and say, “I love you.”
Hearing someone say or reading, “You should enjoy every moment now! They grow up so fast!”
Mary wanted to scream, “Saying that does not help.”
To Mary it did not feel like a gift, it felt like another thing impossible for her to do, and now that list was way too long. She thought I am botching the whole deal with Scotty and he will turn into a horrible criminal who will hate me and will never want to be around me when I am older.
Weeks and months passed, Mary was proud of her son and his progress, exceeding every developmental milestone. Scotty enjoyed the piano. He played his own tunes and sang. Mary thought I love listening to his voice. He has a great voice. He has an excellent imagination, creating things and telling stories. He can tell a story about anything.
During a manic episode Mary would have tons of energy. During these high energy moments, she and Scotty would have the most fun running around, laughing, and clowning around making up stuff to get their imaginary friends to smile and roar with laughter.
It was difficult for Scotty to understand that his mom could dance and have a great time one day and then the next day, wanted to be alone and grumpy.
Scotty had an amazing memory and great attention to detail. By remembering he became intuitive and sensitive to his mother’s moods. He knew when to have fun, when to be quiet, and when to soothe.
Scotty saw his mother utterly euphoric scribbling pages so, he asked, “Are you writing a story?”
“No, just brilliant ideas I don’t want to forget,” continuing an endless succession.
Hours later, she closed the bedroom door, put her head on her pillow and sobbed.
Being tuned in to his mother’s emotions and trying to cheer her up, Scotty picked rose petals from the garden. They looked so luscious, happy, and festive. He lovingly felt the rose petals, rubbing them with his fingers feeling the softness and smelling the sweetness. He surrounded his mother’s pillow with rose petals, signifying you are important to me.
Touching the rose petals with her fingers made Mary feel warm and fuzzy inside. It opened her up to experiencing the beauty that was genuinely all around her, enveloping her, making her feel safe, soft, secure, and peaceful. Unfortunately, this peace was not long lasting.
Overtime time Sam saw changes in Mary. She seemed bone tired most all the time. Ragged, how-am-I-going-to-make-it-to-the-end-of-the-day,