Flowers All Around for a Caregiver

Since Romeo has been in the nursing home, I have seen to it that there are fresh flowers in his room. He loves them so, and he welcomes their color and fragrance in an otherwise dull room. I am happy to bring him joy in such a simple way.

Quite by accident, I also discovered since Romeo has been in the nursing home that placing flowers in my bedroom, the room that Romeo and I once shared, helps to fill the void he left there so suddenly. I find myself puzzled as to how this can be so. How do flowers take the place of a husband? How can they be so comforting, so calming and soothing to my soul?

The answer might lie in the traditional symbolism of the flower itself. No matter the type of flower -- whether it be orchid, iris, tulip, lilac, chrysanthemum, rose, daisy, carnation, sunflower -- each one is generally a symbol of the passive principle in nature. The flower itself resembles a sort of cup, a vessel for receiving organic elements such as sun, dew, and rain that are responsible for their growth and existence. Flowers rise out of the ground merely by accepting these elements. Their passivity yields their manifestation.

So too, I think, with my life and Romeo's as we live with his dementia. Romeo and I are passive receivers, chalices for what the Universe has handed us. We have no choice, we cannot change Romeo's dementia. We did not bid it. It simply grew, somehow, with sun and dew and rain.

And as with flowers, colorful and fragrant reminders of the mystery of life, Romeo's life and mine continue to unfold into the future. As each one of us knows where we are ultimately headed, Romeo and I know where this will end. The flowers in his room and the flowers in my room are constant reminders that there is beauty in passivity. The flowers remind us to ride the waves of dementia, the waves of life, and to stop often to take in the dazzling colors, to breathe in the wonderful fragrances, and to let it all be. There is much beauty and mystery in all of it.