Mother's Day

Saturday, the day before Mother's Day, I spent some time clipping pieces of various azalea plants in the garden at my home to take to my Mom's crematory niche at George Washington Memorial Park. The Spring growth was in glorious bloom. My Mother was an avid gardener. The back yard is in full botanical splendor at this time of the year. There are hosta plants bursting in green throughout the garden, a bleeding heart is showing off each small pendant pink heart like a extravagant charm bracelet, and violets and hyacinths and daisies are swaying in the Spring breeze. Most of all, the azaleas are the most beautiful. My Mom planted so many; white, two shades of pink, red, and purple. I thought, instead of spending an exorbitant amount of money on flowers for her (hiked up in price due to the holiday) I would take from her own garden and bring her the beauty she, herself, planted and cared for ... the flowers and plants that annually arise and bring her most to my mind during the year.

I think of my Mom all the time, actually. I guess the cliche you hear people intone is that they think of deceased loved ones every day; that cliche is true, believe me. But, it's the sight of earth sprouting those many plants that makes her memory most evident. She toiled out in the yard and the front of the house all day creating her own form of art, using the soil as a canvas. She contracted a rare form of cancer at a time too young in her life, her late fifties, and was told it was fatal ... no cure. It took its time to ravage her even while she received chemotherapy and other medicines, but she held forth and braved through the ordeal. It disfigured her physically and wore upon her mind and temperament , yet she still persevered and kept up hope. I can still see her in the yard kneeling on a special gardening pad, with her sun hat, her gloves and pail nearby ... digging, cutting and planting ... shaping a world she saw of continual growth and future beauty, even though her own real world was ending.

I always will think of her and of the memories she planted in my mind and the ground as they continue to grow, bloom, pass and arrive again and again as the days and seasons continue on and on. I miss her very much.