5 Graf Essay

I have always adored water lilies, but that adoration does not come from the appreciation of their beauty and quiet elegance. I do not love them because they are in full bloom during the month of my birth. My affinity for the flowers that rise from the muck to burst at the surface goes deeper than that. Catching just a glimpse of them unravels the present and brings me back to happy childhood moments. They've become the representation of simplicity, humor and kindness. They are the visual embodiment of a man who taught me that life is a garment you wear out, to live the way water lilies do, with our faces to the sun, rolling with the current underneath.

Every summer I launch the kayak into the lake by the house and begin the search for the season's first blooms. I usually see the muted yellow hue of the lilies in July and I've made a ritual of picking one on my birthday. It's always early when I go and I always go alone. When I've found what I'm looking for, I sit and wait for pleasant memories to come flooding back. Water lilies are the only link to a dear family friend lost to Leukemia when I was ten. He was my father's best friend, a brother without the same blood. With a lily to my nose I can see his face, hear his voice, remember the words I carry with me better than any photograph could replicate.

Water lilies do not only bring back his face as fresh as though I were still ten, they are also the visual reminders of what he taught through example, what he represented through his action. He always believed wisdom was not found in books, but in nature, especially Maine nature. Even more specifically, on Maine waters, and he found water lilies to be the perfect model for life. They appear delicate and meek, but are hardy. Although canoes and other watercrafts knock them about and push them under the surface, up they come again without complaint. Even when the typical surge of Maine insects crowd the waters and begin feasting on them, they are peaceful amidst the aquatic chaos, seemingly aware of the life cycle they are a part of. "Can't you see all they can teach us?" He'd say.

With his help, I did see all they had to teach. There is a lily in my mind for strength. He'd tell me the water lilies were resilient flowers, that they are surrounded by darkness for the beginning of their lives but keep pushing upward to the light. In my dark times, he said, I needed to resemble that nature. There is another flower for self-acceptance. He'd point out the lilies with missing petals, with bugs congregated in the middle as it rotted. It was still perfect, he'd say, it was still beautiful. Do not regret your imperfections. Then, towards the end of his life, there came the flowers he found the most important to show. The ones that were dying. He taught me not to be afraid of the old and decaying ones. That as one died, another was about to push through to the surface. We must make room, he'd say, for the life that is coming.

Water lilies continue to assume a significant symbolic role in my life. After his death, the lilies he picked for me have firmly anchored their roots in my personal mythology. For every lily I received, and put in a little glass jar to savor, a drop of wisdom was given along with it. Life and death. Simplicity and complication. Self-acceptance and how to love others. This is why I love them. I never need see another water lily again. I have a full bouquet of them, gathered just for me, in my mind.