DAFFODILS





“No, they won't understand you, they will call you depressed, self-indulgent, mad, but you will smile, for you are like the daffodil, and you never wanted to be understood.”
- excerpted from a longer piece by Jeff Foster, www.lifewithoutacentre.com


Yes. But maybe I am. Maybe I am depressed, maybe I am self-indulgent, maybe I am mad. But I smile I do not care if they understand. I do not care anymore what they think of me. Daffodils? Are daffodils misunderstood? I never knew, I’ve always understood them.

I spent the last two weeks planting 450 daffodil bulbs around my yard of my new house, we haven’t unpacked, we haven’t painted, we haven’t moved in. But I planted daffodils. I think people thought I was mad. 450 really? Don’t you think that’s over kill. Isn’t 50 daffodils plenty.  Uh no, I don’t think it’s overkill. I would plant more and might still if I can find the time.

 This is what I know about daffodils that no one else knows, or rather remembers. Daffodils are baby girls favorite flower. I don’t know why she just up and decided they were one day. Maybe she thinks their misunderstood. 

Dan died on a Sunday night in January. We had his funeral the very next Saturday. On Tuesday still in a state of absolute shock we went to the florist for funeral flowers. Before we left I asked baby girl, who was literally running away when I mentioned anything about daddy’s funeral,  if she wanted a certain type of flowers.  She got a giant grin on her face, lifted her hands in the air and said “daffodils” daffodils?  “DAFFODILS” Ok. Daffodils it is. My dad leaned over to me “Jen it’s January I don’t think you can get daffodils yet”  “baby girl wants daffodils, we are getting daffodils” 

Away to the florist we go with baby girl, my dad, and some friends. I tell the florist we need daffodils. “Daffodils” baby girl says as she throws her hands up in the air. Baby girl goes and looks around the store. The florist very gently tells me daffodils don’t make very good corsages or boutonnieres. I reply. “That’s my daughter over there and she wants daffodils at her daddy’s funeral and were having daffodils ok.” Ok. Also a big bouquet of daffodils for the casket. And we leave. “ok baby girl we got daffodils for daddy’s funeral” “DAFFODILS” she squeals as she throws her hands up in the air.

Daffodils for the funeral, yellow flowers and tablecloths to match the daffodils. Happy. Like baby girl, full of life, like baby girl. Fitting. Dan would have never picked yellow or daffodils, unless of course baby girl wanted him too, he would do anything to make her happy.

Baby girl is nervous about moving into our new house. So am I. I don’t know if I can do it on my own again. After Dan died we were both in such a fog I don’t even remember how we survived. Then we moved in with his parents. Now we will be on our own again. I want our new house to be happy. I want it to work. I want to feel safe there and I want baby girl to feel safe too. I don’t know how to feel safe without Dan.  So I planted daffodils. When spring comes she will see them all over our yard and throw her hands up and squeal “DAFFODILS” and somehow that’s related to Dan and to making us feel safe. So I don’t care if they think I’m mad, or depressed, or self-indulgent. We will smile and be misunderstood, we are daffodils. “DAFFODILS”

I wrote a book about my grief, you can read it here: Carry on Castle 











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