{"id":1231,"date":"2019-02-14T13:31:02","date_gmt":"2019-02-14T18:31:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1231"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:07:18","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:07:18","slug":"my-mothers-chamomile","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/my-mothers-chamomile\/","title":{"rendered":"My Mother\u2019s Chamomile"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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My Mother\u2019s Chamomile<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by\u00a0Susie Finkbeiner<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Desperate for the rains of mercy\u2026<\/em>\u00a0Middle Main, Michigan has one stop light, one bakery, one hair salon\u2026and one funeral home. The Eliot Family has assisted the grieving people in their town for over fifty years. After all those years of comforting others, they are the ones in need of mercy. Olga, the matriarch who fixes everything, is unable to cure what ails her precious daughter. She is forced to face her worse fears. How can she possibly trust God with Gretchen\u2019s life? A third generation mortician, Evelyn is tired of the isolation that comes with the territory of her unconventional occupation. Just when it seems she\u2019s met a man who understands her, she must deal with her mother\u2019s heart-breaking news. Always able to calm others and say just the right thing, she is now overwhelmed with helplessness as she watches her mother slip away. They are tasting only the drought of tragedy\u2026where is the deluge of comfort God promises? <\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Prologue<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

1967<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Olga<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Curly, carrot red hair bobbed up\nand down among the green and purple, yellow and pink of the garden. Such a\nsmall bundle of a girl and every inch bounding with energy. That little thing\nmoved from the moment I said, \u201cGood morning\u201d to the time I scolded, \u201cNo more\ngetting out of that bed\u201d at night. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Next to the garden stood a big,\nbrown brick building. Out the open windows, funeral music poured. Quivering\ntones of the electric organ melted together to form a hymn so full of sorrow, I\ntried to keep its fingers from working their way into my heart. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside the brown brick building,\nout of my sight, mourning people held down wooden folding chairs. They\u2019d wrap\ntheir hands around damp hankies and tissues. When their eyes flicked over to\nthe casket at the very front of the room, a hurt would jab in that place\nbetween their lungs. They\u2019d breathe in quick and sharp when the big old rock\ncollected in their throats. No matter how hard they swallowed, the grief\nwouldn\u2019t go down. That casket cradled the empty body of a person they loved.\nThe mourning filled the space between the walls. No doubt their cries reached all\nthe way through the vents and floorboards and into the apartment my family<\/a>\ncalled home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It didn\u2019t even take one peek\nthrough the window to know what happened in that building. Married to the\nmortician, I\u2019d seen my share of funerals. More than I would have liked, if I\nwas to be honest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On funeral days like that one, I\nhad two choices. Either stay inside, cooped up in our apartment and contain my\nfull-of-life four-year-old, listening to the weeping downstairs. Or stand in\nthe sunshine, letting my girl skip and wander and sing to the song of the\nbirds. An easy choice, as far as I was concerned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That spring, I\u2019d planted my first\ngarden. All I\u2019d put in it were flowers. Every kind that caught my fancy. I\nnever cared too much for growing vegetables. Not after all the years I spent on\nUncle Alfred and Aunt Gertie\u2019s farm. No endless rows of soybeans for me. I\npreferred the dotting of color from a flower garden. And nothing so dainty an\nexploring child couldn\u2019t tromp through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Gretchen loved nothing more than\nthat garden. We\u2019d put in a tire swing hanging on a thick branch of our old oak\ntree. And my husband Clive had built her a nice sandbox with a wide umbrella\nfor shade. Still, even with all those choices, she wanted to be in with the\nflowers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My eyes moved from here to there as\nshe darted all about, up one path and down the next. When she made her way to\nthe very center, she stopped. Turning her head one way and the other, she\nlifted her little hands, palms down with arms held straight as yard sticks.\nLike wings. For just a moment, I worried that she intended to fly away from me.\nA silly thought, I knew it. Most just-for-a-moment worries of mine turned out\nto be nothing but silly. Still, I couldn\u2019t keep them banished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, how I fretted over losing her.\nI\u2019d never had such strong terror in all my life. I\u2019d seen too many tiny caskets\nin my time living above the funeral home. I prayed, begging to be spared that\nloss. I didn\u2019t know of a parent who hadn\u2019t prayed that same thing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Death never made sense at all. No\nreason. No rhyme. Willy nilly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Blinking away the fear, I let my\neyes focus back on her. My child. The only one I ever got to have. The only\nbaby my body didn\u2019t reject. I fought off the mourning of those little, nameless\nones. In those days, we didn\u2019t talk about miscarriages. We didn\u2019t allow the\nsadness. It just sat in our hearts as secret shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe thankful for the one we got,\u201d\nmy husband, Clive, would say, rubbing calloused thumbs against my cheeks,\npushing away round tears. \u201cIf God wants us to have more, He\u2019ll give them to\nus.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I swatted the thoughts and the\ndoubts, shooing them like a sweat-bee. Trying to be thankful for the one I got,\nI kept my eyes on the carrot red, curly headed girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her tiny fingertips skimmed the\ntops of tall flowers. Spinning, she hung her head back, the hair brushing the\nspot between her shoulders. The faster she went round and round, the tighter\nshe held her eyes shut. Fair skinned face covered with ginger colored freckles.\nBig old baby-toothed smile from ear to ear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stopped her spinning. Wobbling,\nshe stood, the world tipping her from side to side. Her giggle was enough to\nkeep me glad my whole life through. Big green eyes looked up at me, crossing\neach other and blinking hard. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou get yourself dizzy, Gretchie?\u201d\nThe lavender plant tickled against my ankles as I stepped around it toward my\ndaughter. \u201cYou sure were spinning fast.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When she nodded, those red sausage\ncurls bounced and bumped against her chubby cheeks. Those cheeks begged to be\nkissed. Never did a day go by without me covering her soft face with smooches a\nplenty. I had no idea how long she\u2019d abide me loving on her like that. I\ndetermined to give all the kisses I could for as long as she\u2019d allow them.\nBending down, I smushed my lips into the chub. Putting her hands on either side\nof my face, she planted a big kiss right on my lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, thank you, sugar plum.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t wipe that wet kiss off. I\nlet it dry all of its own in the warm air. That way, I could feel it a little\nlonger. I believed that kisses from my girl were strong evidence of God\u2019s love\nfor me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama, can you tell me about the\nflowers?\u201d How her voice squeaked brought joy into my heart. \u201cPlease, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI like how you asked so nice.\u201d My\nfingers smoothed the flyaway strands of her hair. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the pink one?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, honey, that\u2019s the tea rose.\u201d\nI picked the bloom and held it to her nose. \u201cGo on. Give it a whiff. It smells\ngood, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sucked in through her nose so\nhard the petals stuck to her nostrils. Her giggle again. Oh, the Lord sure knew\nwhat He was doing when He designed a little girl\u2019s laugh. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid it tickle?\u201d Folding my skirt\nup under me, I sat on the ground in the middle of a path. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded and rubbed her nose. I\npulled her onto my lap, letting her sniff in the aroma of that rose until she\u2019d\nfinished with it. We sat in the garden, letting the sun cover us. Every once in\na while, we\u2019d look at each other and smile. So seldom did she sit still like\nthat, I cherished the moments with her nestled in my arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turned sideways. Reaching up\none of those hands of hers, she touched my hair. \u201cYour hair is orange.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust like yours,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to be big like you when\nI\u2019m a mama.\u201d She twisted a strand of my hair around her pointer finger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, you are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen am I going to have babies?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d My arms forming a\ncircle around her little body felt like the most right thing in all the world.\n\u201cProbably not for a good long time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAm I going to be pretty like you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou sure are pretty now,\nGretchie.\u201d Heat from the sun radiated off her hair as I kissed the top of her\nhead and pulled her tighter to me. \u201cBut you know that pretty isn\u2019t what\nmatters, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know, Mama.\u201d She rested against\nme, her head under my chin. \u201cMy heart is made of gold.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA golden heart, yes,\u201d I said.\n\u201cThat\u2019s what matters.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama, tell me about the fairy\nflower.\u201d She yawned, drowsy from the sunshine. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Out of the corner of my eye, a\nlanky chamomile flower danced in the wind. It grew up wild among the other\nflowers. Tall, green, spindly legs under heads of yellow and white. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA long time ago, many years before\nyou were even thought of, there was a little girl,\u201d I began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas she like me?\u201d She sat up,\nturning to look into my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA bit like you.\u201d I stopped to make\na sad face. \u201cBut, unlike you, she was a very sad little girl.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gretchen imitated my expression.\nHer lips turned down and her eyes went soft. \u201cWhy was she sad, Mama?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, honey, because she lost her\nmother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid she try to find her?\u201d Even\nthough she knew the story, she followed the ritual of the telling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. See, her mama got real sick\nand went to be with Jesus.\u201d My fingers brushed through her soft hair, pushing\nsome of it behind her ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe died?\u201d Gretchen\u2019s little face\ncovered with a frown. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded. \u201cSometimes that happens.\nIsn\u2019t it just awful?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That golden heart of hers showed in\nthe tears which gathered in the corners of her eyes. As many times as I told\nher the story, she never got dull to it. The telling always broke her precious\nheart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen what happened?\u201d Her eyes grew\nlarge. \u201cSomething good happened, didn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot yet,\u201d I whispered before going\non. \u201cWell, the girl was very lonely. You see, she had to leave her home and go\nlive with her aunt and uncle and all her boy cousins.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about her daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, he wasn\u2019t ready to care for\nher all by himself. He didn\u2019t even know how to make piggy tails in her hair. He\ncouldn\u2019t raise her right.\u201d A bird darted, a flash of red, over our heads. We\nboth paused in our story to watch it pass. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGo on, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, her aunt and uncle had a\nfarm. She had an awful hard time getting to sleep. See, she\u2019d lived in the city\nall her life. A farm has all kinds of different smells and sounds. And it got\nreal dark at night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid she get scared?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, did she ever.\u201d My fingers\ntwisted the chamomile, snapping it loose and letting it fall into my palm. \u201cBut\nshe remembered her mother making tea that helped her sleep. She used flowers to\nmake it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike that one?\u201d She took the\nchamomile from me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust like that one.\u201d I found a few\nother flowers, picking them and adding them to my hand. \u201cThe girl found some of\nthem in her aunt\u2019s garden. Can you tell me the colors?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPurple, pink, and green.\u201d She\npointed to each one. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cVery good, honey. You\u2019re doing\nreal good with your colors.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sat up straight and grinned,\nproud as could be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow,\u201d I continued. \u201cThis one here,\nthe one with the white petals and the yellow middle, that one\u2019s chamomile.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe fairy flower,\u201d she said, her\nvoice a whisper full of awe. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. And its friends\nlavender and tea rose and mint.\u201d I folded her hand over the flowers. \u201cThe girl\ngathered a little of each of them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid she make some tea?\u201d Sly smile\ncrinkled into the corners of her eyes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPretty soon, you\u2019re going to tell\nthis story better than me.\u201d I winked at her. \u201cThe girl did make some tea from\nthe flowers. A smooth, magic tea. Just a tiny bit sweet. The tea helped her\nrest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid it make her happy?\u201d She\ntouched the flowers, poking at them with her fingertips. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, honey. Tea can\u2019t make anybody\nhappy. Even if it is made from fairy flowers. Not a tea in the whole wide world\nhas that kind of magic.\u201d A ringlet of her hair fluttered in the breeze. \u201cBut it\ndid help her feel a little peaceful. And quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat happened next?\u201d Chubby cheeks\nrose, making room for a wide smile. \u201cShe got happy again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe sure did get happy.\u201d I stood,\nputting my hands under her arms and lifting her up. \u201cBut not because of the\ntea. She got a bundle of joy out of life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow?\u201d She nuzzled her face into my\nneck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGod let her be loved.\u201d Pushing my\nnose into her hair, I breathed her in. She smelled like sunshine itself. \u201cAre\nyou hungry, Gretchen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded. \u201cMay I please have a\npeanut butter and banana sandwich?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, those sweet manners. I\u2019d love\nto make you a sandwich.\u201d I carried her to the house. \u201cNow, Daddy\u2019s not done\nyet. They should be through real soon, though.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWill Daddy come upstairs for\nlunch?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot right away. They have to go\nover to the cemetery first.\u201d I pulled the door open to the back way into our\napartment. \u201cRemember, we must be hushed until they all leave, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded her little head again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I carried her, climbing the stairs,\nthankful for the way in and out that didn\u2019t take us through the mourners. I\nhated the thought of my little girl, so full of life, seeing something so empty\nof it. Not that young, at least.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama,\u201d she whispered, her mouth so\nclose to my ear, I felt her moist breath. \u201cWhat\u2019s the little girl\u2019s name? The\ngirl who drank the fairy tea?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHush, honey.\u201d I pushed her head\nagainst my shoulder as I took the last few steps. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut who is she?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow about I get your crayons out?\u201d\nI asked. \u201cYou can color a picture of the flowers while I make your sandwich. I\nbet Daddy would love to see it when he\u2019s done with work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d she said against my cheek. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her little hand dangled over the back\nof my shoulder, clinging to the chamomile as tight as her fingers could.<\/p>\n\n\n