A Rose From Carmen ...

The sky fell. Not the whole thing, you understand, but a large chunk. The crack had been there a long time ... I should have been watching.

It was 1973. Tony, within days of graduating high school, was working in the furniture business and living in an apartment on his own. He was out of harm's way. Patti, a sophomore at Perryville high school, was living with her grandmother. She was safe. Carmen, Karen and Honey Gail were tucked into bed right down the hall. I was baking cookies.

The crack in the sky was lengthening ... widening ...

I thought about turning off the oven, grabbing those children and running like hell.

Too late. Down came the sky.

On that long-ago night, my little girls got caught in the crossfire of their parent's fight. The damage they suffered was emotional. It was a hundred times worse than any damage done to me.

When, after a three-day absence, I was able to return to our home , Honey Gail, Karen and Carmen rushed into my arms, and for a long sweet grateful time we simply held on tight to each other. No words were spoken. None were needed. My babies were scared and I knew it. Their mama was sad and they understood.

Taking a deep breath, I began the matter-of-fact business of cleaning a house that had been severely trashed. With Karen, Honey and Carmen glued to my side, I learned it's possible to pick up toys, clothes, newspapers and dirty dishes while holding three little hands in mine. Tricky, but possible.

Three little hands became only two. Carmen disappeared.

I looked out the front window and saw her running down the street, away from our house. Unsure what to do, I continued restoring order to the living room, holding on to two little girls while watching the street and silently willing the third to come back. Sun was shinning. Neighbor children were playing up and down the block. I wasn't afraid for nine-year-old Carmen's physical safety. I was concerned about her frame of mind. What was she thinking right now? What was she feeling? Where WAS she?

Suddenly, there she came! Running fast. Back toward home. Back toward me!

Breathing hard, Carmen hurried in the back door. With a shy smile, she handed me one perfect long-stem rose and said, "Welcome home, Mama."

Oh, how beautiful ... I found out later that she used her own money to buy that flower and asked a neighbor to keep it safe until I returned.

When I think of all the gifts I've received through the years - from small children barely big enough to slap scotch tape on wrinkled wrapping paper, and from older children who became quite adept at tying bows - I remember sparkly jewels that turned my neck, ears and wrists black ... Hand prints in plaster of paris ... Beautifully wrapped boxes containing used magazines ... The movie, "Doctor Zhivago" ... crayola masterpieces portraying mother, father, five children, one dog, eight smiles and a house surrounded by flowers ... poems ... a small wooden cat from an European souvenir shop with no known purpose except to make me smile ... A large gaudy pink and black ceramic cat with beads for whiskers and no known purpose except to make me smile ... bath oil that smelled so strong neighbors three houses down complained ... When I remember all those treasures, I feel richly blessed.

But the gift that lifted my spirits highest,
during a time when my heart was lowest,
was a rose from Carmen.