I was picking out photographs from my mom's albums today for display at the funeral parlor tomorrow. I picked up those albums from my sister's old house, the one she just sold and moved out of, a couple of weeks ago. Back then, I found a small clipping about flowers. When I started to go through the albums today, I searched for the clipping because I want to read it at her services. At first I could not find it and that was a little stressful but then there it was as if it had just bloomed before me.
When I was a kid, my mom always liked the flowers that I gave her on days like Easter and Mother's Day (even if I got them questionably maybe with some mischief involved). So I guess I just was carrying on a tradition, one I started long ago. When I read the words in that little clipping, it made me happy, that most of the times I visited my mom in recent years, I kept up that tradition by bringing her those flowers ( and cookies too). Not all the time mind you but certainly the majority of the times I saw her. She was living in a dementia ward, in an assisted living home, for almost 6 years before she passed. I visited her just about every week over the first three and a half years. Then I had a bout with cancer and suffered through the torture of the treatments; I guess that it was understandable that my visits slacked off but I may never know why I did not pick up the pace again when I was feeling better. While I may not have seen her as often as I should have since I had the cancer, I usually still brought her flowers. They were usually mixed bouquets, sometimes just roses or daisies or lilies and now and again Pussy Willow cuttings (and usually some cookies - especially Mallomars and Milanos). On some days, when I was not up for the walk while pushing her wheelchair to the nearby marina, we also sat in the facility's gardens. She loved being able to get outside with me to enjoy the flowers and watch the birds flit back and forth to the bird feeders. Once not that long ago, she told me how she had planted the home's garden, that was two springs ago. I let her tell me the story and went along with it, fantasy as it was, because it made her happy.
As for the flowers I brought to her, and the ones I brought her to, she always said she loved them and I was always sure she did but I never knew maybe just how much they meant to her. I now think they meant more than I would have imagined. It only was when I first read the words on the clipping that I knew the importance they held for her. To her they meant someone cared for her, loved her, thought about her, and probably most importantly that she was alive to enjoy them. Sadly, I was not able to bring her another bunch after I found the clipping and I will have to live with that forever now. Here is that aged and yellowed clipping and the words on it that I now treasure dearly. I read it to you now so for those of you whose moms are still living, you can bring her flowers before it is too late; and for those of you whose moms have passed, you can know that those flowers you gave your mom meant the world to her while she was still with you:
Poignant to say the least but it makes me all the happier that I brought her at least those flowers that I did. If your mom is still alive, why not bring, or send, her some flowers today; I highly recommend doing it now because one day, all too soon, it will be too late.
All the best,
Glenn B
