MESA, Ariz. — I am a proud wife and mother whose family has been blessed. My husband, Jim, and I have been married for 41 years; we have five children and 17 grandchildren with one more on the way. We have spent the years busily raising our family, but despite the happiness we share, our lives have been touched by tragedy.

Our family is no stranger to death. Less than two years after losing my mother, we buried four immediate family members in a four-month period. My mom passed away in December of 1998, and 18 months later, my dad died suddenly. Six weeks after that, Jim’s dad died after an accident in the home. Another five weeks later, Jim’s mother died due to (preventable) complications of surgery. And just three weeks after that, with all of his grandparents awaiting him, our sweet son, BJ, lost his battle to cancer at the age of 16.

One Sunday in June of 1995, our youngest son, Brian James, whom we called “BJ,” came to us and said he wasn’t feeling well. He was the one who never got sick. He had spent the previous day out on the lake, fishing with the neighbors, so we assumed he had heat exhaustion.

We began all the usual at-home treatments, but didn't see any improvement. Four days later, too weak to walk and with his lips devoid of color, BJ was admitted to the hospital. Our bright and happy 10-year-old- son was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. In that instant, our lives were forever changed.

The next five-and-a-half years were spent going for treatments, which included massive doses of chemotherapy and radiation, later followed by maintenance doses. BJ was a frequent and favorite patient at Phoenix Children’s Hospital where he brightened the day of everyone who entered his room, despite his own illness. We were blessed with intermittent periods of BJ being well enough to play Little League, attend school and earn his Eagle Scout Award. Nevertheless, on Nov. 8, 2000, cancer claimed our child just two months after his 16th birthday.

The remarkable acts of service rendered our family during that time and after BJ’s passing could easily fill a book, but this is about one particular act of kindness that we were unaware of until the first anniversary of his death.

A dear friend, Kathy, showed up on our doorstep on Nov. 8, 2001, with a little vase of the sweetest yellow flowers. We invited her in, thanked her and began to visit. We had not even recognized the flowers until she told us where the flowers came from. Kathy had been a constant companion during BJ’s illness and helped at the luncheon provided for our family and close friends after his funeral. The tables at the luncheon had little potted flowers on them and, after cleaning up, Kathy took some home and planted them.

Like me, Kathy doesn’t have much luck with growing plants, but these little flowers continued to flourish. We call them “BJ’s flowers.” She planted them in November, and they blossom each year in time for her to bring us a bouquet of them on Nov. 8. It’s a tradition I have cherished and appreciated.

Despite a strong faith in God and wonderful family and friends who love us and blessed us during those trying times, we had to find ways of dealing with the pain. We still celebrate BJ’s birthday as a family and tell stories about him, and we have found many other ways to keep his memory alive. “BJ’s flowers” have turned out to be one of the sweetest reminders.

One of my favorite additions to this story is that last year Kathy’s nephew decided to surprise her by weed-whacking what he thought was a bed of weeds. He was unaware that the little yellow flowers were mixed in that bed of weeds or that they had any special meaning to anyone. This happened just days before she was going to go cut the flowers to bring over. Kathy didn’t have the heart to tell him about the flowers so she went to the store and bought me a large pot of them and brought it over. I was grateful, but try as I might, I couldn’t keep the flowers alive to plant in my own yard. They weren't really "BJ's flowers."

When Kathy said she saw some yellow flowers blooming this year we were delighted. They survived the previous year’s pruning and were once again blossoming in all their glory.

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"BJ's flowers" are called daisy chrysanthemums. They look like mini sunflowers — small and yellow with a dark brown center. They are believed to bring happiness and laughter to the home. The chrysanthemum means compassion, cheerfulness, rest, loveliness, optimism, abundance, wealth and friendship. Indeed, “BJ’s flowers” have come to mean all these things to our family.

Daisy chrysanthemums are a perennial flower, meaning they blossom year after year. This is one of the things I love best about "BJ's flowers": They bloom again and again, they last for an indefinitely long time, they are enduring, perpetual, everlasting, continuing — all things that remind me of BJ and our family ties with him.

To have a friend who would even think to do what Kathy did and have a way to bring us a sweet reminder of our beloved son year after year speaks to an enduring friendship. The fact that they are so resilient to come back after having been cut down speaks to the eternal bonds people feel toward their children, living or passed on. To be able to look at them on my kitchen table and, in one glance, have so many wonderful memories come to mind is a gift to be cherished. These are not just your average little mums; these are unique in all the world. They are “BJ’s flowers.”

Stephanie Abney, a retired teacher and freelance writer, lives in Mesa, Ariz., with her husband Jim. They have five children and 17 grandchildren. Her email is sabneyfeedback@cox.net and she blogs at stephaniesaysso.blogspot.com.

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