Flowers For Juanita

Once there was a little girl who used to sit on the living room floor and watch as her stepmom would stroke her stepbrother’s hair while they all sat around the TV. She imagined how nice it would feel to have her long, coarse, copper-brown hair touched, longing for that kind of affection but never daring ask for it. Her stepmother despised her. She was the only other girl in a small house of 8.

One day the little girl came home from school with lice. She spent the majority of that afternoon in the bathtub covered in medicated shampoo while her stepmother aggressively scrubbed, ripping a comb through the girl’s hair, complaining and berating her, resenting the girl for having “dirty n**ger hair”. The little girl stood there frozen, wincing, humiliated, wondering what she did wrong, feeling sorry for needing help.

Disgusted, the stepmother gave up and threw a fit, demanding that her husband get the girl out of the house and let someone else deal with it. So the little girl’s dad packed her and her two brothers up and they headed a couple hours south to Grandma Juanita’s house and dumped them for the weekend without saying a word about the girl’s condition, and sternly warned them to do the same.

Grandma Juanita was surprised but delighted to have the kids visit. She was suspicious of the late hour drop-off, and was gobsmacked as to why those babies hadn’t eaten yet. She fixed up some leftovers and sat at the table with them. It didn’t take long for her to notice the little girl scratching her head at the dinner table. She discreetly took her to the bathroom and did a quick inspection. As soon as the first bug was spotted the little girl burst into tears. Juanita instantly knew what had happened without the girl even having to say a word. She knew who her son was. She gave the little girl a reassuring squeeze and asked her husband Ira to run to the pharmacy.

Due to the length and thickness of the little girl’s hair, Grandma Juanita thought it might be best and easier on both of them if she could cut it. So she asked her granddaughter if that would be alright with her. She trusted her grandma so she nodded and sniffled in agreement. Juanita gently snipped her hair, washed it, took her time combing through it while chatting it up like it was all no big deal, never once showing any sign of disgust or contempt. She stayed unflinchingly sweet and treated the little girl with the exact care and warmth she needed.

Grandma Juanita was the source of all the little girl’s sweetest memories as a child. Her home life was…difficult to say the least, but she had refuge at her grandparents’ house. She would spend summers there with her brothers running around barefoot, chasing lightning bugs, making ice cream, gardening with grandpa, dancing to the radio, going for rides in the truck, eating watermelon on the porch, sleeping with the windows open in clean, line-dried sheets. It was the only safe, peaceful place she knew. Juanita was the only maternal figure she felt at home with.

Needless to say, the little girl had a very special bond with her grandma throughout her whole life, even well into adulthood. They stayed in close contact despite living a few hours apart.

One night, when the girl was 31, she had a dream that she was in a car riding down some dark country road in the middle of the night. She looked to her left to see Grandma Juanita in the driver’s seat. At this point her grandmother had been in a home suffering from Alzheimers Disease and had not driven in almost 10 years. So to the girl’s shock she exclaimed, “Grandma! You can drive?!” Juanita turned to her with the biggest twinkle in her eye, and with a nod and a smirk and a squeeze of the hand said, I can do lots of things now.

The dream was cut off by the sound of the telephone ringing. Half-asleep, the girl slipped out of bed and shuffled her way through the dark into the kitchen to answer. It was her dad. Grandma Juanita had passed away just a few minutes prior.

If I had any reason to believe in angels, my great-grandmother, Juanita, would easily be the biggest one. Juanita means “God is gracious”. Her grace was her legacy. She was born in the springtime in Fredonia, Kansas. She loved jasmine flowers and the color green. She was the light of my mom’s life. May she rest in profound peace and riches beyond riches.

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