Delivery.

Mundane task.  I hate laundry.  I am shuffling through piles of laundry.  The clean ones I put away, the dirty ones in piles ready to take the place of the clean ones in a few short hours.  Laundry just piles up around here.  I can always get laundry started.  It's the finishing a load of laundry that is the real chore.  We have piles of clean laundry all over the place, because I just can't get to folding part of the task.  It's like a never-ending chore.  With two kids who make messes all day, the clothes and the linens turn into mountains and within a few short days I have a massive task on my hands.

Friends advise me that I should do a load each day, I would just have a bunch of smaller piles of clean clothes laying around.  Since I am sterilizing the boys' medical equipment (nebulizers) nearly every day, that takes precedent over laundry that is then forced to wait.  Where other moms are doing typical household tasks, I am doing juggling the critical CF tasks in our house...  ordering refills...  sterilizing nebulizers...  thumbing through medical statements and insurance claims.  And the normal tasks just pile up.  I have been advised to separate piles of dirty laundry by family member in the house, so there really is no sorting necessary.  Just put it away.  I am now on this method of madness.  If all else fails, maybe I can try a laundry service who will deliver my clothes, fresh and clean back to me.  Wouldn't that be nice?!  For now, I take the mounds scattered about my house and just do my thing.

Dylan is actually sleeping a nap for once.  In recent weeks, he has been boycotting his nap.  He either argues that he is not going to nap or he sits and plays quietly.  Clatter and snapping sounds are the muffled sounds sneaking out of his room under the door crack.  I know he is playing with puzzles.  But on this occasion, I hear silence and Michael is playing with Matchbox cars in his room.  It sounds like some adventure including a hot pursuit of some robots in Matchbox cars.  I can't quite here all the dramatic detail.

Suddenly, in the quiet that blankets my house, the doorbell rings and the dog goes charging, full barking mania in swing.  I feel my heart seize.  I panic.  I just know that sleeping Dylan is going to wake up.  Really?!  I try to shoo away the person standing on my doorstep, but he gestures frantically with his hands and motions through the window that he has flowers to deliver at our address.  The dog is booming and would tear down the door if she could.  FLOWERS?  Who is sending me flowers?!  I pull the heaving, growling mutt off the front door and temporarily lock her in the basement.  I hurry back and sign for the flowers, and graciously thank the gentleman who now runs back to his van in the pouring, icy rain and run my flowers hurriedly to the front door.

After the immediate fury has passed, I unlock our insane dog and let her inspect the flowers.  Sniff sniff sniff.  She signals "all clear" to me approving the import.  Michael hurries downstairs.  I now hold my breath and listen.  Silence.  I shush Michael and continue to listen.  More silence.  Wow, I might have actually lucked out.  For all I can figure, Dylan is still asleep.

I peel off the crunching cellophane and the green floral tissue paper to expose gorgeous flowers. There are blooms of warm green hydrangea, peppy coral roses, bright yellow roses, and leafy spring greens.

Now the biggest mystery isn't what's in the package, but who sent them at all.  I can't even fathom who would send these to me.  My husband who has been so immersed in his busy season?  A friend who is playing a nice April Fools prank?  It is afterall, April 1st.  That one might make the most sense these days.

I pluck the card on the arrangement, my eyes read and re-read the words.  My jaw falls in astonishment.  Then, I feel myself weaken, and I start bawling.  This lovely bouquet was sent by a family friend who has a heart bigger than I can explain.  The card basically says these were sent to me "just because"...  that I am an amazing mother and that I simply deserve it.  I am floored.  WHAT?!

Michael is over the package as he now realizes that it is flowers inside and not a Transformer robot for him.  He does see my tears, gives me a hug, and heads off to play.  The dog has deserted me too.

Now alone, I sit and stare at the bright, spring arrangement.  I dab at my eyes, suppressing the tears as they form.  I lean back on my chair, my hair a disaster and still my pajamas.  I look at my cold cup of coffee, barely touched next to it.  I realize I haven't eaten a thing yet today.  My eyes shift back to the beautiful flowers in front of me.  There are so many days I feel alone and fighting a disease that we can't really even see.

I start sobbing quietly with my head in my hands.  On this gloomy day I am surrounded by heaps of whites, colors, and towels.  Frankly, all grays.  These flowers shatter the muted tones of my day.  They are a source of light and of love.  I believe we are all gifted angels in life, angels in heaven and angels on earth.  I am always stunned by the angels that present themselves in my world and when they choose to reveal themselves.  What a gift.  I am in complete awe of the angels around me.

There is a reason why they call having a baby, "labor and delivery".  It is an awful lot work.  That much is obvious.  It's the "delivery" part that gets overlooked.  Delivery sounds so finite, an action that has been completed.  Baby arrives, and ta-DA!, signed, sealed and delivered.

With the pleasant arrival of these whimsical blooms, I realize a new meaning to delivery.  An instance that goes beyond.  These flowers connect me to something greater, something new, bright and fresh...  a gift of goodness and kindness.  Qualities that transcend an instance.

The kind of delivery that beautifully endures.

A fixture in my kitchen for the coming days, the flowers whisper gently reminding me that even in the drab grays, and in the mounting piles, even when I am completely alone...  actually, there are unseen colors and earthly angels all around me.