Cherry Blossoms: How Dreams for Our Children Change

I’ve always loved Cherry Blossoms.

Our newest Cherry Blossom Tree, and her name is Patsy Ann.

They’re beautiful, and one of the first signs of spring where I live. Their pink blossoms symbolize so many things to me. They show how we want our dreams to become beautiful and successful.

As parents, we have dreams resembling those blossoms for ourselves and our children. I had many dreams for my son and daughter, and for different reasons, those hopes have changed.

A good parent knows our dreams for our children aren’t necessarily what our kids want for themselves, and we all must accept that.

I’m learning with Corrie’s second garden, called Arendelle. I was happier with the tulip bulbs we planted in the fall. They grew taller and stronger than the others we planted.

The stalks for the pink tulips have grown taller than the others we planted this spring.

I took a picture of the back portion of Corrie’s Butterfly Garden. A few weeks ago, I planned to transplant the gladiolas, which my father had planted there, to Corrie’s Arendelle Garden.

Just as the wind takes the Cherry Blossom’s blooms away, this remarkable little tree also symbolizes how short-lived life and some dreams become. This doesn’t mean life or dreams are without hope. Rather, this symbolism acknowledges reality.

I’ve had an obsession with putting Cherry Blossoms on the farm for how much they mean and symbolize to me.

The dreams for my son, Hayes, have changed. While I write about his earlier years, I no longer share recent pictures of him as he is twelve-and-a-half. He does not use social media, and I want him to enjoy all the years of his childhood and adolesnce while learning what it takes to mature. I only write about him now with what I have permission from because I respect my son’s individuality and privacy.

The cherry blossoms and dreams represent him, too. They symbolize how he’s grown up too quickly. When you lose the child who is your baby, although Corrie was five going on fifteen, it is very difficult to cuddle the older one in the aftermath of loss.

I’ve named each of the trees we’ve planted. Some have names of women in my family while others are just fun. This Cherry Blossom is named Margaret Louise, and the one behind it is the Hortense Loretta.

For the first time since spring 2020, when we still had Corrie, the wisteria blooms completely. The frost got it before it could bloom in 2021 and 2022. Its beauty and symbolism is similar to the Cherry Blossoms.

I don’t consider myself old, but my back-to-back hard life experiences have made me more reflective. Some of my students call these experiences from the tornado and loss of my daughter “bad luck.” I don’t believe in luck, but I do think we will all go through a hard season. If you’re familiar with the Bible, we will endure a Job season.

It is real life, and I’m not always flexible with change. Yet, I’m not given a choice. My hopes and dreams, and those of my children, like the Cherry Blossoms, have changed.

A branch of the wisteria spreads a sweet fragrance in our front yard.

With Corrie’s intelligence, I’d dreamnt she’d become a CEO. As bereaved parents will tell you, one of our worst fears after we lose a child or children becomes: How will people remember them as the world continues?

No matter what, spring after spring, the blooms on these Phlox return. They were planted by John’s mother forever leaving a mark of her pressence and love for him.

After her graduation to heaven, John and my father designed and planned for Corrie’s Butterfly Garden. Other than the pathways and retaining wall, there wasn’t a formal plan for what plants would go where. Last year, when I first started getting into gardening, I also didn’t plan. I chose plants, mainly lilies, based on Corrie’s favorite colors.

Sometimes it takes us and our children time to find ways forward in our plans and dreams, especially as they evolve.

I took this picture of a candy tuft I’d planted at the front of Corrie’s Arendelle Garden.

As the spring months move towards May, nightmares increase. It has happened each year as the time for Corrie’s Angel Anniversary, May 27, approaches. The only way I’ve been able to counteract them is planning her second garden.

I believe Corrie sent me dreams, to sack the nightmares, of purples highlighted by pink and white for this new garden. I saw a vision of Arendelle with a white stone path going through to the center with a lamp post.

I drew this very informal sketch of the back of the garden with the white stone path going through the back with a rounded area in the center.

I decided several plants needed to be transplanted, including several of the lilies to go along the border of the Arendelle Garden. I transplanted the gladiolas to go along the back of the Arendelle Garden with the Cherry Blossoms.

I took a picture of the back part of the Butterfly Garden after I’d transplanted the gladiolas yesterday. I plan to put herbs and catmint in the back part of this garden.

I planted more Phlox in front of Corrie’s angel statue.

Two of the Lavender plants in Corrie’s Butterfly Garden are doing well.

The dreams for Corrie have changed, so she can forever be remembered through her gardens. She will grow through her gardens. Each plant will bear her memory. Through the plans for ongoing gardens, she will grow on Earth.

Just in another way.