Tiger Lilies

I never really knew my Grandmother. She lived in Minnesota and we lived in Illinois, Louisiana, and finally, Virginia when she died. The relationship between my Grandmother and my Mom was strained to say the least, so I think we only saw her once a year, if at all.

She lived in a 4-room house. Water had to be pumped from the well and then heated on the stove. Bare light bulbs dangled from wires that were strapped to the ceiling, along the wall and out to the power box. Clothes were washed in an old wringer-style washer and then hung on the line out back. An outhouse had 3 sizes of holes to go potty in-- small ass, medium ass, large ass. I tried to sit on the medium size hole when I was little and quickly found out I needed to keep my ass on the small size. Dirt cellar under the house; I only went down there once and still remember that dank, earthy scent. Attic had a few things in there, but had that distinctive bat smell. No matter how hard my Grandmother tried, she never could completely eradicate the bats. Her bedroom was pink. There were horses in the field behind the house and I fed them crab apples. She used to make crab apple jelly with those apples.

Grandmother's favorite flower was the Tiger Lily. She had them all around the house and I remember them, thinking they were strange looking flowers. When she died, my Mom tucked some tiger lilies in her hands. My Aunt transplanted some of the tiger lilies from around my Grandmother's house and planted them in her back yard. A couple of years ago, she asked me if I wanted some seeds from the tiger lilies. I only had a few that sprouted last year, and a few more sprouted this year than last. It's kind of cool knowing I have descendants of tiger lilies that are over 60 years old.

The flowers hang down. I wish they bloomed upright, but maybe they are shy flowers. Or maybe they bloom this way so that the rain doesn't fill them if they were upright, like a cup. Strange flowers, bold orange and spotted, bumpy black, but then maybe they are ashamed to have such bright colors, so they try and hide their blooms, to fit in with the other flowers. Maybe that's why my Grandmother liked tiger lilies.

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My Grandmother told me once, not too long before she died, that I ought to be ashamed of myself. We were sleeping overnight and she came down the stairs, restless in the middle of the night, and turned on the hall light, it woke me from my cot in the dining room, the light shining in my eyes and she looked at me and told me, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself." Then she turned off the light and went back up the stairs.

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For the longest time after that, I wondered what I did to make her say that. I was 12 or so at the time and it stunned me. When she died, I wasn't sad. I never really knew her. She was old school-- children should be seen and not heard. She had a hairy, scratchy lip when she kissed me and she had that old-people smell. I don't remember much more than that about her.

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At the memorial service, I was more interested in the dead baby in the other room than I was in my Grandmother. I remember watching my Mom put the tiger lilies in her hands. They were stiff and curled, and when she picked up her hand, the whole arm lifted. I touched her face and it was cold and hard, and surprisingly, soft and smooth. I didn't know what to think. She was dead, what was it to me?

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As an adult, looking back, I know now that when she told me those words, late at night, in the dim light, with her spotty medicine-fogged mind, I might have looked like someone else. With all I know about her now, she had a hard life and she tried to do what she could to single-handedly raise 2 daughters on a very small income. She was deaf herself and had to deal with an over-bearing mother who mooched on her and put her down and wrote to potential employers not to hire her daughter, which made it harder for her to find work. Days back then were not easy for rural women, especially widowed, rural, deaf women with 2 young deaf children. I forgive her for those words now.

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Her last years were not easy ones, with open heart surgeries and medications that left her ill and stole her mind and robbed her of her memories. I think if she had heart surgery now, her recovery would have been better, but 20 years ago, things were not as advanced as they are now. But it was not her health that did her in, she took her own life. A decision that has devastated my Mom and I think, still has her searching for answers. As someone looking in from the outside, I believe I know why she did it, but nothing I can say would soothe or ease her pain.

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So, my Grandmother's tiger lilies live on. And I hope they know they have nothing to be ashamed of.