Dad's Flowers

For the 20th year in a row, the purple, white and yellow crocus blossoms are popping their heads up in my garden beds. From twenty bulbs, they have managed to multiply and spread underneath the liriope and ramble beneath the wild strawberry groundcover. And to think I planted them upside down that cold November day in 1986. That was a week after my dad died and I had been so grief-stricken that I'd put all the bulbs in the ground the wrong way. Somehow, each flower managed, over that long, cold winter, to turn and right itself just in time to bloom. What a testament to sheer will.

Every year at this time I think of my dad - and how he would want me to continue to use that same strong will to press on through all of life's struggles and fears - searching for the bits of happiness and grace that can be found in every moment--if only I look close enough.