We arrived home on Sunday afternoon after spending a long twelve days on the road, driving 1400 miles (2253 km) round trip. Most of that time was spent with my mother who is working to regain some of her lucidity. She did remember me some of the time, but not always. I could tell when she really did remember me by the way she said my name. It was spoken with such warmth and love, it was like a song from her lips. I never minded when she didn't remember me though, because I always remembered why we were there, and that was to give her as much love, support and care as we could.
the first day when we were at my sister's I noticed all the rose bushes
she had. There was one out in the front yard that was particularly
lovely. It produced the most beautiful multi-colored flowers. So, I
decided I would clip an almost-opened bud to bring to my mother. She
always grew roses in our yard when I was growing up. She is a huge fan
of such beauty. So I put the bud into a small empty plastic water bottle my mom had in her room.
There it stood on the edge of her dresser like a promise of springtime. Then it blossomed into something breathtaking. I
looked at that rose and thought, I'm going to take that rose back with
me to the beach house when we head back north, and I'm going to toss it
into the bay where my dad's ashes were scattered so many years ago.
Roger and I have tossed flowers into that water in my father's memory
many, many times. But never a flower that had bloomed in his beloved