they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Sunday, August 24, 2008


when i was in 7th grade, my dad became "the flower man." and i became the flower man's daughter. 16 years later, he closed the doors of the flower and wine shop on gregory. the one that everyone knew. the one that i would pull up to on any given lunch break with a sub sandwich and some venting to do. sometimes, i'd cry. sometimes we'd laugh. but always, i knew where i could find my daddy.

as of last saturday, he's not going to be there anymore.

i didn't realize how sad it made me until i broke down during dinner tonight with b. i'd made a rice casserole. you know, the kind that'll last all week. and we were eating it and having a glass of wine and he turned to me and asked, "what's wrong, jessi?" i stopped chewing and thought about it. i said, "i think maybe it's just pms...i don't really know what's bugging me. i'm just sort of sad." and then, i lost it. i realized why i was upset. and i cried and went on and on and on about how my life has changed. this staple, this flower shop, this part of my life that has been there since i was 12, is gone. and i know my dad will be happier. and that he didn't just close his business, he sold it. so he's walking away with something...with a lot.

but the part that rips my heart out...the part that really hurts is that it's the last "thing" that had his, and my mom's, stamp on it. he opened it with her help when they were still married. we lived down the street then, and it was a place we could walk to on weekends. my first job out of college was right across the street from his shop. and so, i'd stop by several times a week for lunch or just a chat. and even as my parent's marriage fell apart, and mom stayed in the leawood house, and he moved into the loft above his store, the actual store remained a constant. andy the dog was there. and i could visit whenever i wanted to. and last year, when i was going through the hardest time of my life, i sought refuge there often. i'd go up to the loft and sleep during the day when i just couldn't figure out what was wrong with between doctor's appointments and leases to sign. i could go and talk to him because he'd listen. unbiased and with a soft heart. and no matter what came out of my mouth, i was his daughter and he was going to love me unconditionally.

it's not that any of that love is going away. it's just that it's going to have to be more carefully planned. like on weekends or holidays or dinners. because he isn't going to be the flower man anymore. he's going to have another job and he's going to live somewhere else. and i am going to miss what was with my whole heart.

i'm also going to have to start buying flowers somewhere else. and i don't think i can ever get past the thought that no matter where they're from, they're not as fresh as the ones from LeVine.


  • At 9:41 PM, Blogger Spyder said…


  • At 9:14 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    It doesn't matter where your dad is. You can still talk to him. I wish my dad were still here on earth for me to talk to. Count your blessings.

  • At 4:05 PM, Blogger Faith said…

    Aw! I just saw that store was closed last week when Leo and I were on ourway out to Starlight for Kathy Griffin! I was all, "No! All the flower stores seem to be having issues in this economy! Damn..." (My twin closed her shop in California a couple of weeks ago...)

    But it's nice to know that he sold it, and didn't close it for other reasons. Unless I'm reading into that wrong, and he didn't actually WANT to sell it. Which could be the case.

    Anywaaay...::trying to stop the rambling::

    I didn't know that was your dad's shop. And I'm sad that you're sad. (And I was sad to see it go, too, even though I'd never shopped there...I think the inner Twin comes out in me when it comes to flower shops, for some reason...)

  • At 12:33 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Dear Jessi,
    I know just how you feel. I felt the same way when my parents sold the drug store. The place I had grown up with...It still makes me sad the see the old building when we visit Topeka. Give your Dad a big hug from us the next time you see him and let us know how we can get in touch with him. Much love to you all,
    grandma and grandpa McCarthy...


Post a Comment

<< Home