I know I have written about this before, but it is on my mind this morning. And it's important.
For years I thought they were my flowers. But they're totally not.
They're Nancy's flowers.
I feel like having them on my little kitchen table brings me closer to this woman that I didn't even really know as a real, whole person with
stories and faults and humour. She was my aunt, and our bond is that she died on my birthday.
It is my favourite part of my birthday.
The celebration layered with something somber. It's entirely beautiful. It's humbling. I know that I don't deserve it. At all.
I love being part of the remembering. I hope that I accept these flowers with sufficient grace. How did I manage to be on the recievin end of all that love? With something so tangible and fragrant and lovely.
I am honored. Deeply.
It is actually beyond my understanding. But then, it's death and flowers and love and mystery. I don't think I'm supposed to understand it.
So thanks Becky, for cracking my heart open. Sorry it took me so long to see these flowers as more than flowers.
Incidentally, this year's bouquet is the most beautiful one I have ever had.
you are so wise and poetic.
ReplyDeleteI didn't realize that my text on this blog comes out all crazy like this.
ReplyDeleteIt reads like a stupid high school poem. How do I fix this? Rats on technology.
Dear Wendy, when I first started sending you flowers on your birthday, I don't think I even realized it was the same day as mom's death. I rediscovered you through the magic of Google via an old blog, and through that blog learned enough about sweet, raw, honest you that I felt a new connection to you, though we hadn't seen each other in years. I felt a gut level need to maintain that connection and somehow symbolize and formalize it so I wouldn't ever forget you, because I am terrible at just keeping in touch. I find you to be vital to the general goodness and hopefulness of the world, just like flowers are. So that's why I send you flowers. But going through this lovely ritual every year has also caused me to do a better job of remembering my mom, and you're right, they have become her flowers to. But they were yours from the start, and I know neither you nor Nancy minds sharing.
ReplyDeleteSuch a lovely way of writing about this. Both of you. And Wendy, Mom needs someone else to cherish her flowers anyways - She was almost too practical to enjoy flowers that weren't growing in the ground. Almost, I say. But probably, secretly, not quite.
ReplyDelete