Mom’s Dead a Year

Flowers speak to my soul. I love them. I show love for others with them frequently. Beautiful arrangements delivered to doorsteps are such a sweet surprise that lasts for a couple weeks (hopefully). I take time choosing one particular combination for a special person, hoping the smile I get from giving them is shared across the miles by the recipient.

Years ago, I purchased a few little bunches from the grocery store and created bouquets personally for friends and family locally. Now, my mobility is limited, including no driving. Even so, I couldn’t stand or sit long enough to complete the task.

So, months before my mom passed she gave me an unsolicited truth whiplash, telling me what she really thought of me and of fibromyalgia. Navigating my relationship as she failed became even more difficult. I look and sound just like her and we were so close, I thought, for 58 years. I reached out via text after a few weeks but her response was, “I think we’ve said all there is to say.”

Can you imagine the person who’s been your rock all your life, the one with whom you shared the minutiae of life suddenly pulling the rug out from under you? Now, add in that the person is very sick and only has months to live, which is probably why she’s angry and mean to all of her daughters. Even if she didn’t want contact, I knew she wouldn’t object to beautiful flowers.

Her birthday came first and I sent a colorful confetti of blooms. Lo, and behold, she texted and thanked me. Next up, Thanksgiving decor. She said these brightened her room at the living facility where she resided. After asking if it was okay, I stopped in to say hi. Oops. Soon after I arrived, she pointed her finger at me and said, “Don’t you ever talk to me the way you did.” My emotions got the better of me and I defended myself, reminding her that she began that conversation and, now this one. I asked why I shouldn’t speak that way to her and she said meanly, “Because I’m your mother.” Oh, you can probably imagine.

No visits were in order but a wonderful Christmas arrangement shared what I wished I could say to the mom I knew, “Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you. I don’t want things to end this way.” Not sure if she got that message but it provided some holiday colors to her small studio apartment. New Year’s came too soon but deliveries followed mid January, Valentine’s Day and then a fragrant bouquet in the last days in March. Short, 20-minute stops to see her were interspersed but tension remained.

The celebration of her life prompted a last floral expression for the table where we shared some of her memories and keepsakes. I took it home after. But I didn’t want to be done. Fresh flowers to both of my sisters let them know I was thinking of them after all was said and done. Christmas came around months later and I sent them some holiday decor.

Yesterday, was the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death. It weighed on me for a few weeks in the lead-up. I decided flowers were in order. For me. My memories of her are so complicated now. My sisters and I agree we want to think of her before. Before dad died and she held herself responsible. Before she gave up. Before C. diff took its long ugly toll. Those troubling images of mom saying such ugly things to me sneak in, though. I wanted to tie it all up with a bow.

A trip round the sun since saying goodbye to mom. Right up front I thought back to the different bouquets I’d sent as well as her favorite flowers and colors. Then, I started thinking of moving on with my floral choice to one I’d like. Guilt skirted the edges of my mind, feeling like this would be a betrayal. Setting that aside, instead of blues and white, it felt good to look at bright, warm colors. Yeah, I decided, something to signify a new beginning. You see it above. It makes me smile.