by Billie Jean Keith
To me he is the orchid guy. To the rest of the world, he is an Army colonel who works in the Pentagon, has a wife and two children and plays on the Army national tennis team. I found him on the Internet, or rather my husband did. I had recently become the proud owner of several orchids from Hawaii. Very soon afterward, I realized that orchids are not like house plants. They don’t even grow in soil. They demand specialized attention — kind of like a young child does. Children get sick and you know what to do to help them get better. Orchids get sick and just die. Rather than listen to my consternation, my husband got on the Internet and sent a message to a couple of people in our nearby area who seemed to know about orchids. In came the orchid guy. He was willing to stop by the house after work to tell me how the dozen or so orchids looked, and possibly what they needed. When a couple of them — for no apparent reason — became puny, he took them home with him for intensive care. Imagine a tall, athletic guy in a colonel’s uniform cradling two baby orchids in his arms. Those orchids thrived.
Following the horrific events of September 11th, I could not send a message to find out how he was. Every day I remembered that I should send the message, but still could not. Two weeks following the attacks, a little voice told me I had to make contact. In my e-mail address book, he is listed as “orchidguy.” The next day, an answer came back from him. He is all right, but like me, is just going through the motions of getting through each day. He said that sometimes he takes a solitary walk so his children will not see how depressed he is about the attacks on our country.
He also mentioned that one of his walks recently led to the area in the Pentagon where the plane crashed. He told me it looks like the biggest cave one has ever seen. And he offered to come visit my orchids soon. But I’d already learned what I wanted to hear. On the radio I heard someone advising listeners that this is the time to get in touch with a sister or brother you haven’t seen in a long time, or a relative from whom you are estranged. In my family, there are no broken relationships, but I know that this may be an exception. How sad it must be for someone who isn’t in touch with a family member because of a perceived lack of concern, or other family tension-like strain that often follows the death of a parent. The radio social worker reminded the audience that we know our sisters and brothers longer than anyone in our lives. We are born with them around and they are there when we die. Isn’t this tragedy a good reason to try to communicate with them?
I mentioned this to a cab driver taking me home a day or so after September 11, and he paused for a time and said, “I think I’ll call my sister,” and we drove to my house. As I was getting out, he said, “I wonder if she’s still in Texas.” I hope he finds his sister. I hope the orchid guy can get over the pain of having colleagues who were killed in the attack on the Pentagon, and I hope we can all call our sisters and brothers and tell them we miss not being in their lives.