The Day Of The Mother
I am standing on my deck surveying new growth in the gardens. All the bulbs are in riotous full bloom and the perennials just on the verge of opening to their color. In the garden where an Apple tree had been removed and replaced with a new peach tree, I check to see if the transplanted flowers have survived the winter and if the wildflower seeds I have spread earlier this spring are sprouting. They are! All of them are delicate yet vigorous and I am thrilled.
As I soak up the joy of this glorious day, I am struck by a thought, “My Mother would love this garden.” Her ashes have resided in a red velvet bag in my dresser drawer for eighteen years. I intended to make a glaze out of them to adorn a hand-made vessel but learned that the process is too toxic and too complicated for me to accomplish. I then planned to spread them in a magnificent place in nature but I either didn’t have her ashes with me or didn’t feel the spot did her justice. Her standards were always high and I felt I rarely met them.
Not this time. I run for the red velvet bag, carefully untie the cording and take her on a tour of the garden, placing a little bit of her at every plant and tree. “Remember how much you loved the blue Columbine when we vacationed In the Rocky Mountains?” as I add her to the earth where blue columbine are blooming.
After eighteen years of looking “out there” for the right place for my mother, I finally have found the perfect spot: Right here with me. It is a final For-Giving.