I call it a peace lily. Technically it's a Spathiphyllum but doesn't peace lily sound lovelier? I've had many of them in my lifetime, several were sent as tributes to dearly departed ones. There's a small one on the mantle just now - resting in a blue and white pot - soldiering on in spite of frequent low-light conditions and infrequent watering. The dirt, dry as desert and the leaves swooping low. But just pour on a scant taste of water and you can watch them raise back up right before your eyes. Like wings. Like a miracle.
I love that they resemble the calla lilies from my wedding bouquet - very 80's. Long stems with trailing white satin ribbons. Every time I see or say "calla lilies" the voice inside my head is Katharine Hepburn's. She's reciting her famous speech from Stage Door:
"The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower, suitable to any occasion.
I carried them on my wedding day, and now I place them here in memory of something
that has died. Have you gathered here to mourn, or are you here to bring me comfort?
I've learned something about love that I never knew before. That I never knew before.
You speak of love when it's too late. Help should come to people when they need it.
Why are we always so helpful to each other when it's no longer any use?...This is my
home. This is where I belong. Love was in this house once, and for me it will always
be here, nowhere else...One should always listen closely when people say goodbye
because sometimes they're, they're really saying farewell."
This was spoken after her friend, Kaye, committed suicide. A powerful moment in the play. Funny it came to mind just now with attention turned to suicide prevention. Suicide remembrance. Suicide. A gifted young pastor struggled with his own darkness while leading others into light. His last tweet on Monday: "Lonely? Depressed? Need someone to talk to? ... You don't have to do this alone!" A few hours later he took his life. I cannot get past the irony. The tragedy. His extravagant means of grasping, gasping for peace.
Funny, it always sits at the elbow, the memory of those now gone. Tugging on sleeves and wafting the grief toward you like a dusty exhaled breath. Remember me. Remember us. Remember.
But that peace lily. On my mantle. Resurrected again and again by a few drops of water and a slant of sun through the blinds. Listen closely. Hold your pitcher ready and lift the shade - someone needs a little resurrection today. Help should come to people when they need it. It does. It does. Selah.
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