My Daddy's Camellias
Posted 03-18-2008 at 09:48 PM by ShallowsNole
It’s that time of year again.
It’s almost spring. The camellias bloom first, then the azaleas take it from there. And every time I see a camellia, I can’t help but think of my father.
My daddy was a tall, strong and extremely intelligent man, and he loved camellias. His birthday was February 21, and as a child, the camellias always bloomed just before and during his birthday. The two went hand in hand.
He planted camellias in our yard when I was in elementary school. The plants were small, and I remember his consternation when they did not bloom for several years. Finally, though, the one he planted between the wall of his shop and our pumphouse developed buds and, on his birthday, sprung into full bloom. A couple of the others in distant parts of the yard did as well. Dad was a man of few words, and fairly gruff a lot of the time. But he loved the camellias.
We lost several of the camellias in September 1975, when Hurricane Eloise filled our yard with salty water from the bay. However, the ones further away from the house and the bay still thrived.
In the summer of 1983, we began noticing that Dad’s speech was beginning to slur and that he didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. The onset wasn’t sudden, as with a stroke, but we suspected perhaps a series of strokes. Mom finally got him to a neurologist in Pensacola, under the pretense that it was her appointment. As his mind was slipping rapidly, we were anxious to learn what we could do to reverse this, and get him back on the road to good health. Unfortunately, the diagnosis was amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease, and the part of his body most affected was his respriratory system. Normally, this affliction weakens the body and often leaves the patient paralyzed, but does not affect the mind. While the tremors and weakness that characterize ALS were present, the more serious and sad symptom was the loss of his mental faculties. The reason behind this part of his illness was never diagnosed nor explained, and Alzheimer’s was ruled out. We reasoned that perhaps his brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen. In any event, the doctor informed my mom that Dad only had about six months left. Though evident to everyone around him, Dad was blissfully unaware that anything was wrong, so Mom made the choice not to tell him.
By the time his birthday in February 1984 rolled around, there wasn’t much that he remembered clearly. The ladies of the Point Washington Methodist Church had a birthday party for him. It would obviously be his last. He went into our yard and picked a bouquet of camellias to take to the party. It made my mama cry.
By mid-March, the camellias gave way to the azaleas, and in the pre-dawn hours of March 26, 1984, Daddy gave way to respiratory failure and went to be with his Lord and Savior. He was barely 64 years old. I was not quite 21.
In the almost-24 years that have since passed, the time between February 21 and March 26 has always been somewhat melancholy for me. I’ve now been without my father for more years than I was with him, and it is true that time does help. Still, I see him in many ways around here. The rusty pipe marking the spot where he once had a company come in to drill for oil (that’s another blog in itself), the azalea bushes lining our driveway, the canal he had dredged during the days of the fish camp, and the road to our home, which bears his name, all remain even now as markers of various stages of his life. However, the one that hits closest to my heart is the lone remaining camellia bush, which blooms like clockwork every February.
There is still one bloom on the camellia. The azaleas are starting to bloom. New flowers were taken to the Point Washington Cemetery yesterday evening. It’s that time of year again. Time to remember - and miss - my daddy.
It’s almost spring. The camellias bloom first, then the azaleas take it from there. And every time I see a camellia, I can’t help but think of my father.
My daddy was a tall, strong and extremely intelligent man, and he loved camellias. His birthday was February 21, and as a child, the camellias always bloomed just before and during his birthday. The two went hand in hand.
He planted camellias in our yard when I was in elementary school. The plants were small, and I remember his consternation when they did not bloom for several years. Finally, though, the one he planted between the wall of his shop and our pumphouse developed buds and, on his birthday, sprung into full bloom. A couple of the others in distant parts of the yard did as well. Dad was a man of few words, and fairly gruff a lot of the time. But he loved the camellias.
We lost several of the camellias in September 1975, when Hurricane Eloise filled our yard with salty water from the bay. However, the ones further away from the house and the bay still thrived.
In the summer of 1983, we began noticing that Dad’s speech was beginning to slur and that he didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. The onset wasn’t sudden, as with a stroke, but we suspected perhaps a series of strokes. Mom finally got him to a neurologist in Pensacola, under the pretense that it was her appointment. As his mind was slipping rapidly, we were anxious to learn what we could do to reverse this, and get him back on the road to good health. Unfortunately, the diagnosis was amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease, and the part of his body most affected was his respriratory system. Normally, this affliction weakens the body and often leaves the patient paralyzed, but does not affect the mind. While the tremors and weakness that characterize ALS were present, the more serious and sad symptom was the loss of his mental faculties. The reason behind this part of his illness was never diagnosed nor explained, and Alzheimer’s was ruled out. We reasoned that perhaps his brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen. In any event, the doctor informed my mom that Dad only had about six months left. Though evident to everyone around him, Dad was blissfully unaware that anything was wrong, so Mom made the choice not to tell him.
By the time his birthday in February 1984 rolled around, there wasn’t much that he remembered clearly. The ladies of the Point Washington Methodist Church had a birthday party for him. It would obviously be his last. He went into our yard and picked a bouquet of camellias to take to the party. It made my mama cry.
By mid-March, the camellias gave way to the azaleas, and in the pre-dawn hours of March 26, 1984, Daddy gave way to respiratory failure and went to be with his Lord and Savior. He was barely 64 years old. I was not quite 21.
In the almost-24 years that have since passed, the time between February 21 and March 26 has always been somewhat melancholy for me. I’ve now been without my father for more years than I was with him, and it is true that time does help. Still, I see him in many ways around here. The rusty pipe marking the spot where he once had a company come in to drill for oil (that’s another blog in itself), the azalea bushes lining our driveway, the canal he had dredged during the days of the fish camp, and the road to our home, which bears his name, all remain even now as markers of various stages of his life. However, the one that hits closest to my heart is the lone remaining camellia bush, which blooms like clockwork every February.
There is still one bloom on the camellia. The azaleas are starting to bloom. New flowers were taken to the Point Washington Cemetery yesterday evening. It’s that time of year again. Time to remember - and miss - my daddy.
Total Comments 6
Comments
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Thanks for posting this. Reminds me of my grandma & the row of peonies that I have in my yard (previously my grandmothers). She dug them up out of her grandmother's yard & transplanted. When they bloom, it always brings back great memories of her.Posted 03-19-2008 at 08:16 AM by shakennotstirred
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Oh SN!! This is such a beautiful tribute to your sweet Daddy! What a wonderful daughter he has. I think even I will think of him now when I see camillias in bloom.Posted 03-21-2008 at 11:22 PM by DD
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I have fond memories of your father and the old store. What a sweet and heart felt tribute to him SN...I enjoyed reading your blog. I remeber the camellia's, I remember the shop and I think I might remember the rusty pipe..didn't know the story about it...can't wait to hear. God love you and God Bless your Daddy!Posted 03-30-2008 at 12:25 PM by seagrovegirl
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What a grayt story, I love camelias also, I know after reading this I'll think of you and your dad when I see them.
I lost my mom when I was 19 way back in 1973,she has been dead longer than she was alive in my life,but I still miss her and think of her often.Posted 03-31-2008 at 03:12 PM by cp
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SN, I love love love this. Camelias have a special place in my heart also. My mamaw had several varieties at her home outside of Mobile. When I was little she would walk me around the yard and name each and every variety. Isnt it nice how simple things can remind us of loved ones that have passed??Posted 04-06-2008 at 07:22 PM by InletBchDweller
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What a beautiful tribute. My grandmother in DFS and grandparents in Mississippi had camelias, and every time I see them, I have such fond memories of them. I have another story about camelias, too. When we were little, my twin sister and I decided that they were so romantic we would pick them and arrange them in a big heart shape in the yard with one of our friends. We sat inside the heart and tossed out a blossom to whomever drove by! Maybe I should plant one when hubby and I move!Posted 04-08-2008 at 01:57 PM by Goddessgal
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