Raindrops on My Roses

How My Sisters Became MY Roses

There was Angela, Brianne, Elaine, Frances, Karrie, Leigh, Madison, Opal, Patricia, Tamara, Domino and Dominica.  They were my sisters and they were all older than me.  But, from my earliest recollections, they were always taking care of me, and making sure that I got everything I needed to make good grades in school, all the way through college.  They were always around, always kind and considerate.  They never hurt me but always were my true champions. 

As I grew older and became a more educated and aware of just what I had in my sisters, I began to search for a way to describe them to others.  And, I finally decided that they were all lovely, wonderful people.  They were the most wonderful sisters and friends a guy could ever have had.  And, after thinking about for a long time, I decided to refer to hem as “Roses.”  MY Roses, for they certainly brightened up my life with their style and love and overall appearance.  You see, I had every reason to respect them as they never mistreated me; I had every reason to Love them, because they always loved me; and I had every reason to put them on a pedestal, as that is where they always put me.  This level of familial love was always inspirational to me and it gave me courage to go out and do things I would never ever have had the courage to have done otherwise.  In calling them My Roses, I recognized in them the wonderful qualities that make families stay together in love, admiration and affection.  A love of brotherhood and sisterhood, and of family.  If I was to try to quote a question, Oh how do I love you my sister, let me count the ways, I would be unable to count all the ways, for the list would be long, and specific to each of them. 

Of course, Angela and Brianne were the oldest of the two sisters and were fourteen months apart., and they were fourteen and thirteen years older than me.  So, in effect they took care of me as a baby and were my primary care givers for the first five years of my life. 

Elaine and Frances were first set of twins and they were twelve years older than me.  They were my home school teachers.  They were my very, very, very best friends   We were close in that we always confided in each other.  We often had secrets we kept between us. 

Now, Karrie and Leigh were the second set of twins, and they were ten years older than me, and were born in 1959.  They were the brains of the operation around the house, and they pretty much ran the show.  They very often took exception with the will of the hired Nanny.  In fact, they rarely accepted her authority, and often told her that they would take care of their brother, and her help was neither requested or appreciated.  Karrie told her once that she should spend her time preparing the meals and keeping the clothing clean and the furniture clean: that was all she was needed for.  They got her told what they expected of her around the house, and they expected her cooperation.

Dominica and Domino were the third set of twins and were born about eighteen months before me, so the older sisters raised them side by side with me.  Since I was born in 1969, Angela and Brianne were born in 1958.  Elaine and Frances were born in 1957, and Karrie and Leigh were born in 1959.  Dominica and Domino, were born in 1967.  Madison was born in 1961 and was eight years older.  Patricia was born in 1964 and was five years older.  And Tamara was born 3 years before me and was born in 1966. 

Of course, my baby sisters Patricia, Tamara, and the third set of twins Domino and Dominica were raised by the older sisters:  Angela, Brianne, Elaine and Frances and Karrie and Leigh.  Madison was the one in the middle and did not get involved in the day to day goings on of the house.  She did her own thing.  But, one thing I can tell you about all twelve of my sisters was that they were all “KNOCK-OUT ROSES.  All of them were lovely, and accomplished in everything they did.  They sang together and were talented enough to accompany themselves on musical instrument.

It never occurred to me that there would come a time when they would not be in my life.  When I was only seven years old, Angela got married and moved with her new husband to Atlanta, Georgia.  I lost my first Rose in 1977 when a drunk driver crossed the center median of I-75 and hit her and her husband and their one-year old daughter head on.  They died instantly.   Brianne married when I was six years old and moved with her husband to Savannah, Georgia.  She died giving birth to her first child in 1977 when I was eight years old.  So, in less than two years’ time, I had lost my two oldest knock-out roses and would never see them again.  It was devastating.  They had always been there for me, raised me like I was their child. 

Elaine and Frances moved to Memphis in 1975 and became attorneys at law having received their degrees from the University of Memphis School of Law in 1982. 

Karrie moved to Nashville Tennessee to attend Vanderbilt University in 1980 and became a Neurosurgeon. I only began to see Karrie on few and far spaced-out special occasions.   

It is safe to say of all my sisters that I learned to love and respect them, for they taught me everything I needed to know to be a responsible man and to have purpose and meaning in my life.  They lived that kind of life in front of me.  They never stopped expecting the best from me and I never stopped giving them my best. 

Of my twelve sisters, eight are still alive and living happy lives.  Tamara was blond headed and had strikingly beautiful blue eyes.  She went to work for a major airline based in Boston, Massachusetts as a flight attendant.  In 2001, she died instantly on September eleventh, when her plane was intentionally flown into the North Tower at World Trade Center One.  She was 35 years old.  I was 32.  Her loss was as tragic as it was devastating to all of us.  It is painful reminder of what hatred, and violence can unleash upon family, friends and loved ones.  It is tragic because of the suddenness of I all, and it is devastating in its finality.  It was a horrific way to die I am sure, but I would say of my beautiful Blond sister with he alarmingly beautiful eyes, hat she had a wonderful life, and relished every minute of it.  I will miss her every day that I am able to give thought to hers. 

But, as I have added a few years to life, I have come to understand that into each and every life a little rain must fall.  It will fall on the good as well as the bad.  In the case of my KNOCK-OUT ROSES, some hot and heavy moisture fell on four of them, and they are gone from us forever, but I am better able to accept that because of how hey prepared me for living.  I am saddened by their passing, and my heart is left empty and bare, hollowed out by the grief of their separations from me. 

Yes, raindrops on my Roses, are always sad for me to look upon, so I tell he landscaper o dry my Roses of any raindrops immediately, and cover them up as quickly as possible to prevent the others from acquiring any raindrops.  I am adamant about that.  They can be watered from the base up, but I cannot bear to see raindrops laying on my Beautiful KNOCK-OUT ROSES.  I become anxious when I see raindrops strike and then form on top of the Roses that in the KNOCK-OUT ROSE BED.  These are living representations of the beautiful sisters that raised me and loved me and provided for my every need.  I will no allow them to be rained on, and my landscapers knows what require for their care.  On that point, I am unrelenting and unforgiving.  The most relevant instruction is when precipitation threatens moisture, he KNOCK-OUTS are to be covered until the threat has passed.  Since the last great storm to pass since 2001, there have been no losses in the KNOCK-OUT ROSE BED, and I plan to keep it that way. 

It isn’t that a drop of rain on one of the KNOCK-OUTS will do much direct damage, but the water on them will bring aphids which are destructive.   

In 1990, I met and married and with my life began to have my own family.  Of course, I told my wife I only wanted to have daughters.  You see, I wanted to honor my sisters, MY Knock-Out Roses with my own set of Knock-out roses.   The only problem with that was in the fact that I married an Irish lady, and she said but these your daughters will have to be IRISH ROSES instead.  Well, that sounded just fine to m.  Now, at the age of thirty-one I have seven red-headed Irish Roses that belong to me and my wife,  Maybe someday soon I will have a dozen red Irish Roses of my own to love and to cherish.

In loving memory of my Original Long Stem Rose, my mother LaVada who was an inspiration for me and all who knew her.  I lost her in 1998 to cancer, but not a day passes that I don’t remember her compassion for anyone needing help; she gave of herself and never expected to rewarded in return.  TO me she was only getting started at being a help