Alyssum















“Alyssum”
I walk out my front door and pretend not to look at my flower pots that should be gracing my front stoop in vibrant, dripping colors. To say my thumb is not green, but maybe black is an understatement. I apologize to my former friends for the neglect and utter parchment they have faced with the warmer temperatures. I notice out of the corner of my eye, that a speck of life still remains. “There is a hero in this arid soil! Who could this be?” I exclaim to myself. My eyes fill with tears as I realize it is the Alyssum that has conquered the bright noonday and ravages of the Idaho wind. It’s tiny white blossoms overflow the edge of my pot and take over the empty space the deceased marigolds and moss left behind. I laugh at my emotion. I am sentimental, but not usually over foliage. No, my tears are for another Alyssum that has bloomed in the midst of life’s scorching rays. Her beauty shines transcendent and my heart swells in thanksgiving and relief.
SweetAlyssum

Eight years ago I was working in my kitchen in Pocatello. The soft white curls of my eighteen –month old Sydney bounced through the room. For a brief second my world paused and I felt a distinct impression of a personality; A full and energetic force with which I was not yet familiar. The name “Alyssa” whispered through my mind. “How strange,” I thought. “I never really liked or considered that name before, but it is rather pretty.” I would maybe have forgotten that moment and chalked it up to oven-cleaner fumes, but then my seven-year old Lauren walked through the door. “Mom, you know what name I think is really beautiful?” Half listening, I said “What?” She then said, “Alyssa.” Again I paused, but this time I knew that we were to have our third girl and her name was to be Alyssa. It was a miracle. After trying four years for our sweet little Sydney, it was only one month later that we were blessed with the news that our Alyssa would be arriving in 36 weeks.

I had been correct in assuming and feeling even before she was conceived that this soul was vibrant and vivacious. Never a dull moment since she has arrived, everyone who meets her is captivated by her charm and charisma. Behind the laughing eyes, however, lies a deeper secret. For in this world where from the beginning the elements were rent apart from each other there is always an opposite. As wonderfully happy as she sometimes was, the next moment an anger and rage so profound would surface that at times we felt like the big bad wolf had come to blow our house down. Unfortunately, the hairs of my chinney-chin-chin had already worn thin from other cares and worries. For a long time we just let her blow. Dave began to sense her explosive moods and would aptly state, “Watch out, she’s going to blow!” The immense power of the anger seemed foreign to a soul so little and her small body would often shake as if momentarily possessed of a seizure.

There are many words that a mother hopes to never hear from the mouth of her six year old progeny. Many are actually worse than the four-letter variety. I believe that the inner turmoil, the rages that would not be quieted inevitably left her with a pain that few in this world have felt. So when she told me she did not want to live anymore, I knew she meant it. Experts touted it was the sensationalism of the statement that she desired that sent it flying from her lips. That was part of it, but in my heart I instinctly knew and shed tears for the rest and reprieve she thought death had to offer.

What is it about mental illness that immediately brings turned backs and empty words void of comfort or condolence? Is it our own fear? Fear of being different in a society where normalcy, youth and money stand as brashly as the God of Baal for the children of Israel once stood? Shame on me. Shame on all of us for being ashamed. I have found that there was one from whom our family did not recoil. One who’s love and tender mercies transcend time and space to reach down and pick my empty heart up out of the dirt. One whose depth and understanding smooth healing balm through dense layers of veil and our forgetfulness. Only he knew and loved our family enough to heal us in a very literal way. Only two short weeks ago through his care, through therapy and medication, the big bad wolf has left the building and our house of bricks is still standing!

Last week at work amidst the happy exclamations of newly born babies and families, I leafed through a book. I realized that I knew the meaning of all my childrens names except Alyssa. With our other children we had always looked at the meaning behind the name before finalizing our choice. It was different with Alyssa. Her name had preceded her arrival. Since she had always simply been “Alyssa” I had neglected to unearth the beauty behind the word. My heart leapt in my chest when I read that Alyssa is derived from the word and plant Alyssum that was revered in medieval times for its medicinal properties of “curing madness”.



Nicole Goodwin Budge





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