Never Too Late – Thoughts on My Mother

I Missed Mother’s Day

Since the death of my Mother many years ago, Mother’s Day comes and goes and each year I think less and less of celebrating the day. My Mother’s life was precious, but her star has faded in the world. But the fact is, my Mother is always with me; her DNA influence and loving guidance are imprinted all over my life – from knowing how to write checks, my insistence to avoid alcohol and cigarettes, my love of literature, and my strong immune system – all these things come from her loving nurturing.

 

Memories of My Mother

Nothing reminds me more of my Mother than pink roses. She had a pink rose bush that sat outside our back door on Paulding Road. She tended that rose bush from Spring to Fall and coaxed beautiful blossoms from it. In the Winter she pruned it down and then carefully covered it to protect it from the cold and snow.

Pink brightened my Mother’s skin and made her face glow. I loved seeing my Mother wear anything pink. On her death, we dressed her in her favorite pink dress and had loads of pink flowers around her casket.

To celebrate her, a good friend bought me a Queen Elizabeth pink rose bush. I planted it in my back yard and for years I did little of the tender care my mother did. However, it flourished and year after year produced beautiful flowers. I told people that my Mother must be the one who cared for that bush because I did so little for it. Eventually, the canes wore out and the bush died so I replaced it with another Queen Elizabeth Rosebush. I do my best to care for this one, but I must admit I am not as attentive as my Mother was. Nevertheless, it still surprises me with lovely pink flowers when I need them the most. This was the case a week after Mother’s Day. I had been keeping track of my red amaryllis that come out around Easter time, but this year they were spotty in popping out. To my surprise, I opened my back-patio door and saw the rose bush had one flower and two buds on it. It needed pruning badly, so I worked on the bush and brought in the blooms and put them in a vase, and memories of my Mother came flooding back. So, I wrote a poem in her memory. Please enjoy!

 

Pink Roses

By Marie Staight

There sits in my garden

A rose bush with blooms of pink.

Its petals unfold in the sun without pardon.

Seeing their beauty makes me think.

 

Back to the days of my Mother

When she tended the pink bushes –

Roses rich with perfume like no other.

Those were the days of great wishes.

 

She tended me like those roses

She was the sun that made me grow

Her tears watered my sadness

She gave me the roots that kept me in tow.

 

Mother gloried in my victories,

Like a bouquet in a vase

Displayed to all enquiries

With a smile upon her face.

 

Inescapable, when my petals fell aground

She gathered up my sorrows

And pressed the petals spent around

Telling me, there would be sweet tomorrows.

 

Memories of pink roses on her casket flowed.

Did the pink rose bush die too?

Nay, rather their flowers ever glowed

 To live another day under the sky so blue.

 

I know she keeps tender watch over

My garden’s pink roses.

They pop with passion’s lesser color –

The smell of spices tickles our noses.

 

Today, I look upon one blushing blossom

Smiling of my memory

Of all the loving ways my Mother, awesome,

Raised a daughter in a rose garden’s nursery.

 

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