Remembering Mom | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Remembering Mom | Previous Challenge Entry
By Judy Mathis
04/22/09
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“What a beautiful bouquet!” I almost shouted as I caught the amazing blaze of color on my porch as I returned from an early evening walk.

I knew the flowers were from my friend, Michelle. She grew “dahlias gone wild” every year. The flowers were putting on a show in rich velvet reds, yellows, oranges, bright pinks, and stripes of color. I treasured the hug; a note from my friend on the one year anniversary of my mom’s passing.

I took the flowers inside and put them on the table by my chair. As I sat, my eyes were drawn to the explosion of color and I allowed my thoughts to wander into a warmth of memories. Memories of mom and me in her garden and the time we spent over seeds, plants, flower gardens, and bouquets. It was something we shared though I never personally felt compelled to venture into gardening.

I remembered the times I ducked finding myself in the path of several bees, “Mom, do you plant flowers for the bees?” I teased one time.

She responded with a chuckle, “Flowers are jewels for everyone to enjoy and especially the bees, butterflies and hummingbirds.”

I recalled mom’s later years, when she wasn’t able to garden. We began the annual tradition, on Mother’s Day, of my planting flowers in pots and in the little space surrounding her front door. I could still see her in my rear view mirror as I drove away. She was standing at the door lost in thought looking at her flowers. I always wondered what she was thinking and how long she stayed there.

I fell asleep in my chair comforted by happy times with mom and her flowers.

My husband awakened me the next morning just in time to get myself off to work. Driving home at the end of the day, I spotted Patterson’s Garden Center and turned in as if I had planned the stop.

I passed down rows of flowers and was amazed at how many I recognized from mom’s garden.

“Every garden has to have rudbeckias, yellow and pink,” I heard mom say.

I picked up several pots and put them in my cart.

“The Shasta daisies just poke up and keep on blooming. Cut them and just give them away until they’re gone.” I saw her motioning with her hands to emphasize her thoughts.

I continued wandering around filling my cart and enjoying countless memories. I came to end of the last row of flowers. I looked at my watch and discovered I had spent over two hours! I hurried to the check out.

As I pulled into the driveway, I realized the work would begin with getting the plants out of the car. They had to wait in a huddle on the driveway. My husband and I spent the entire weekend cleaning and preparing a neglected circular garden area by our patio. When the plants were all in the ground the beginning of my perennial garden was launched.

Fall passed quickly and winter lumbered on through mid-April. The flowers spent weeks shooting up greenery. The excitement of seeing the first buds finally arrived and by June the flowers were well on their way. In August I celebrated an amazing sea of color and masses of shapes seemingly parading in the breeze to be seen. I thought of my mother as I pinched the spent blooms, watered and sat in my chair looking at my garden and watching the bees, butterflies and hummingbirds. I frequently shared gifts of bouquets with my friends, neighbors and family and I celebrated being able to share such a beautiful personal gift!

Everyday I was drawn to spend time in my cushioned chair just to look at the flowers. My attention seemed to drift following the flight of the bees and butterflies zigzagging through the flowers. I was immersed in the beauty of the flowers and absorbed in the busyness happening before my eyes! It occurred to me at the end of summer when the flowers faded that I had glimpsed into my mother’s thoughts as she stood at her front door looking out at her flowers. She wasn’t thinking anything. She was just soaking in the beauty of the flowers and the urgency of the bees and butterflies which brought joy to her heart.

I thank God for beginnings and ends and the in between memories that carry us through.

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