And I Called Her Betty

Each morning I start my day with a hike on a trail behind my house. One day after a late spring shower, a bed of flowers pushed up from the rich soil. One flower in particular caught my eye. It was not taller than the other flowers about it, but it just seemed more vibrant and with a stronger vitality than the other flowers.

One day the flower reached its peak. The morning sun broke through the clouds at that moment and cast a golden beam down upon the flower. She responded by spreading her bright yellow petals which were dripping with dew wide to the light. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I named her Betty.

Days passed and I would make my daily trek that took me by the field where Betty grew. I would always stop for awhile to say hello (yes, I actually spoke to a flower), and then silently observe the nature of the field. Betty seemed to be favored by the bees. One by one, they would patiently wait their turn to take in her life-giving nectar. She seemed almost to drape her petals around them like a mother suckling her baby.

The other flowers didn't seem to be jealous of Betty. On the contrary, they seemed to draw from her radiance and were happy to have her as a friend. One day a baby robin that had fallen from its nest took refuge under her leaves. "Don't worry my child, I'll protect you", she seemed to say.

Weeks passed and one by one Betty's friends wilted, lay down their stems and returned to the earth. But not Betty, her petals were starting to fray, her color, to fade. Still, she stood firm and strong against the wind, not for herself, but for all that drew upon her. Finally, she was the last flower left standing in the field.

That night, a violent summer storm descended. I knew that the blowing winds, pouring rain, and pounding hail would fell the magnificent Betty, and I was saddened by this thought.

I set out on my hike the next morning intent on gathering Betty's seeds, for a beautiful being such as her should carry on for future generations. As I rounded the bend that opens to Betty's field, I stopped in amazement. As far as the eye could see the field was filled with fresh yellow flowers dancing in the wind.

----------------------------------------------------------------------



I wrote the story above while taking a hike. The day before, my 89-year old mom, Betty, had a stroke. I went next door to my mom's house to tell my sister (the drunk) about it. I heard a scuffle in her bedroom and saw that her boyfriend was grabbing at her and she was kicking at him, crying. I physically threw the drunk out, he tried to hold on to the screen door and it got torn off. I called 911 and later in the day they grabbed him up because he had a warrant.

Of course, my sister bailed him out with the money she made at her garage sale, and while my mom was still in the hospital she shacked up with him in my mom's house. Yesterday, they broke into my brother's house to have a place to sleep. My other sister and I tried to implore my mother the kick her out permantanly. My mom, still weak from the stroke (thank God it was a mile one this time), was only worried about my sister living in the streets. This has gone on for 6 years now. 2 hours before her stroke, my mom was in a shouting match with my sister. I truly believe that she caused my mom's stroke. Still, she is only worried about her.

This is my life. Welcome to it.