On Tuesday, I blogged about receiving. This blog is more about remembering. Each Mother’s Day since his mother’s passing, Robert has followed a certain tradition. His mother loved flowers and in particular rhododendron of every color. Mother’s Day morning Robert circles the house and begins to clip a little here and a little there, creating a bundle of whatever is blooming well around our house. He does not want store bought. He wants to bring our home to adorn her headstone. Depending on the Oregon weather we have more or less flowers to share. He mostly snips the Rhodies and azaleas that turn our yard into a color-fest around this time. We drive together to the cemetery and Robert takes care arranging the flowers. He has his private moments.
I do not yet have a tradition for Mother’s Day. I am still surprised when I pass a card display that I won’t be picking up a card for her. Yet, there are, around our home, many objects that bring her close.
This simple bell, which I keep in the bedroom, floods me with memories each time I pass. It’s the bell we would use when we were ill and had to stay in bed. We would ring the bell and help would be on its way: a tuck in, a bowl of soup, or 7-up.
There is no “right” way to remember mothers. Robert brings our home to her graveside. I bring mom’s objects into our home. We both remember in our own way, but are grateful for the love given and the lessons learned.
Drawing on Words 