Thief of Joy

Spring, 1988

The details of this day are blurry and not even my own mom could remember it clearly but I’m sure my imagination can fill in the details. The gravel parking lot of the Farmers Market, which also doubled as our family home, was full of cars and the sounds of conversations from eager customers drifted through the warm air. I made my way downstairs from our tiny apartment and wandered into the store front to socialize. I’m certain an adult, be it my mom or dad, tired of the relentless barrage of questions and comments ushered me out of the way and I was told to go outside and play. I would have made my way past the tables of Geraniums and long rows of bedding plants, through the hanging baskets and narrowly missed the customers conversing about Impatiens or something of the sort.

I must have roamed into the nearest greenhouse because while hot and sticky on the inside, it was quiet and secluded and the perfect setting for all my Secret Garden fantasies. I’m not sure how I concocted the idea to claim a trio of 6-inch potted Begonias as mine and make them a family, but five-year-old me was never short of finding ways to entertain myself with imaginary play.

I would have made my way through the aisles with pallets stacked on cinder blocks which stood nearly eye level with myself. I must have sifted through the greens and browns with spots of color and claimed the three prettiest ones as my own. At some point in the day, I managed to con my mom into helping me write their names on masking tape and placed it proudly on each pot: mom, dad, and Rocky. Who was Rocky? He was their baby of course. I do not remember exactly how many days I cared for and tended to this tiny Begonia family. It could have been one or it could have been ten, the details are not important. What mattered was that this precious Begonia family was mine.

Now here is what I do remember most clearly. In 1988, Kindergarten was for a half day. Only two and half hours and a 20-minute bus ride stood between myself and my makeshift family. I was eager to return home to tend to their needs. After getting off the bus, I sprinted to the greenhouse to do my daily check. I reached up to unlatch the greenhouse door and was met with the usual heat and floral aroma. I made my way over to the corner pallet I had claimed and which my Begonia family called home but when I arrived, I was shocked to discover baby Rocky was nowhere to be seen. The Mom and Dad were right where I left them but Rocky was missing. Had Amber Alerts existed in 1988, this would have been cause to alert the media. I was devastated.

I sprinted back to the store front to confront my parents about what happened to this precious Begonia baby. Imagine the hurt this caused to my five-year-old self when my mom told me my dad had sold him. It was something about how Rocky was prettier than the other Begonias and matched a pair some lady was buying. No matter the reasoning, the damage was done and was irreversible. That day I learned the hard truths about capitalism and grief.

It’s been 35 years since Rocky was forcibly adopted out to what I can only hope was a good family. And I can tell you 100% without a doubt, I’m still not over it. I’ve been disinterested in flowers, especially Begonias, ever since.

I have a hard time letting things go both in the sentimental sense and in the emotional sense. Rocky may perhaps be the longest running grudge I’ve held but certainly not the only one. I’d love to be a person who lets things go and I’ve started working on what that looks like in my life. The Greek philosopher, Epictetus once said, “It’s not things that upset us, it’s our judgement about things” My opinion of all things in life, much like the Rocky Begonia sized hole in my heart, can weigh heavy on me.

It manifests itself in the form of grudges and exhaustion. My brain can be a catalog of soundbites from transgressions past and present. I told my therapist it’s not the actions of others I want to change but rather, I want to change how what they do makes me feel. She later told me about the importance of protecting my joy. I have found that starts with making a shift in my perception of the actions of others. I’m working on responding to people’s words and not the tone in which they say them. I’m working on not holding space for other people’s emotions that are particularly draining for me. I’m working on not letting a person’s negative energy zap the positive energy within me. I’m working on accepting the way in which a person may be critical of me has far more to do with them and the baggage they need to sort out than it does with me. I am in no way obligated to accept less for myself just to make someone else feel better. Most importantly, I owe it to myself to let some things go. Holding on to how others make me feel is a thief of my joy. I often hoard these memories and emotions like they are crucial to my continued existence when in actuality they are taking up space within me that could be used to focus on taking care of myself.

Tomorrow, I will tackle letting much bigger things go, but today, I start with my grudge about Rocky Begonia. I will no longer grieve the Spring of 1988 and the beautiful friendship that could have been. My wish is that the woman who bought him found the same spring and summers worth of joy in him that I found in the few days I had with him. I can only hope he lived out his days in the morning sun and afternoon shade surrounded by others of his kind and that he was never over watered. He truly deserved the best.

About the photo: This photo was taken during the Cave of the Winds tour at Niagara Falls. Only twice in my life, while on vacation, has a place moved me to tears just by be being fully present in the moment. This is one of them. I refer to this as “being baptized by the Niagara.” I highly recommend getting this up close and personal with The Falls. It was spiritual experience.