This photograph and part of the following narrative was posted for Mother’s Day 2 years ago in a different blog, one that is a family story keeper.. I read the comment I made then and am flooded with both memories and new learning. In those comments I said “This branch of rosemary leans into the bloom of an Amaryllis that still grows from a bulb that many years ago bloomed in Mother’s room. Rosemary stands for remembrance. The Amaryllis reminds me of perseverance.” I am still reminded of those important things, but in a different way. The following winter both the rosemary and the amaryllis fell victims to a killing freeze, one that was called the Valentine freeze which wiped out many plants, even those considered hardy in Southeast Texas. I am glad for the picture, which helps me remember the qualities they reflected. I am learning perserverance and endurance in new ways.

As I said in that post, writing is healing for me. At that time I was healing from a back injury. Since then I have had 3 hospitalizations and a major lung surgery. I needed to be reminded of my resolve to live in the moments of today, knowing I cannot add anxiety or fear for the future to the load. I am thankful for many things, among them all the things my mother taught me, including endurance that leaned on faith. Here is a late Mother’s Day tribute.

For Opal

she played the first piano notes I ever heard,

loved all the old Baptist hymns plus

Rustic Dance and I Love You a Bushel and a Peck

took me to piano lessons and made sure I practiced

when I played my piano today, it was a tribute to her

she found the prettiest cloth to make my dresses

smoothing fabric on her bed, laying the tissue patterns, cutting with care

sitting for hours at her Singer

in front of the window where Hawthorne bloomed

pinning and fitting before hand-stitching hems

and teaching me that, too

she brought me yellow roses when I was a young mother of 3 sons

Tyler roses, tight yellow buds in a bunch

in her last years there were petals of yellow sticky notes

to remind me she loved me

I miss her laughter,

the magazine and newspaper clippings she used to send in letters

she had the most beautiful handwriting

I miss the way she loved coffee

the way she smelled of face powder and Tide

I miss sitting by her,

her wrinkled hands clapping with joy or clasped in prayer

clinging by faith until it was by sight