Disappointment

Last weekend was spent at a family reunion in Indiana, and I left my garden in the care of my husband. I appreciated his willingness since he has rated my garden as too large to manage.

Four days later, I returned at midnight and I woke early the next morning to walk about my garden. I put fresh water in the birdbaths and noted the need for a vigorous scrubbing. I pulled the passionvines (Passiflora incarnata) off the salvia (Salvia guaranitica) and the crossvine (Bignonia capreolata) off the blue mist shrub (Caryopteris 'First Choice'). I gave the potted plants a good dose of water. Then I noticed the tub pond. The fish were dead and a small bird was floating on its side, covered in maggots. The water was a murky brown with a bad odor.

I asked my husband if he he knew what had happened with the pond. He had fed the fish on Sunday and everything had seemed fine. He expressed his regrets, especially for disappointing me.


A memory came to mind:
One Sunday morning when I was 17, I asked my aunts Esther and Rena to take me to Mass with them at the Cathedral downtown. My aunts were unmarried career women with one child between them. At the time, my mother was in the hospital, having birthed her 13th child. As I left the house, my father called me to his bedroom and told me how disappointed he was in me because I was not taking my younger siblings to our parish church across the street.

As Esther pulled the car out of her garage, the door hit my shoulder. It hurt but not terribly. In the car, I cried for several minutes while everyone sat in silence, as is our way.