A Mother's Garden in Mid-April (in Zone 7)

A few months after my Mother's lung cancer diagnosis last spring, my parents bought a pink dogwood tree and planted it in their backyard.

Such optimism. 

(If I were a scientist studying genetic links to optimism, I would definitely take a close look at my Father's side of the family.)

A year later, this spring, the small dogwood had four flowers - all in bloom on Tuesday, April 15th - the day that my Mother died.

~~~~~

I arrived at my parent's home 35 minutes before my Mother passed away at 11:05 am, after driving most of the night on I-95 -- with my Mother's sister and my Father calling me frequently, updating me on the shallowness of her breathing - and holding the phone up to my Mother's ear and letting me talk to her, not knowing whether or not that she could hear me.  I hope that she did.  I think that she did.  I could hear the concern in their last call:  I was in front of Albemarle High School, less than 20 minutes from home.  I told my Father that I was almost there.  I could hear the relief in his voice.

~~~~~

After I arrived, I (politely) kicked everyone out of the room and spoke with my Mother for 20 minutes or so.  Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow and slow.  After I told everyone to come back into the room - she passed away fifteen minutes later.  Her decline was described as 'rapid'.

~~~~~

I will miss her forever.

~~~~~

Everyone says that when you lose a parent, that you enter a secret society - and somewhat foolishly, I mentioned this before.  What I learned this week is that there are no T-shirts or theme songs - but instead there are experiences that change how you view the world - and you find yourself doing things that you never thought you had the strength to do:  cleaning up your Mother before the funeral home folks arrive, editing her obituary, ridding the home of all things 'cancer', selecting her clothes, watching the casket being lowered into the vault (and then the vault being lowered down into the ground), helping your Father by packing up your Mother's clothes and storing them safely in the house (but out of sight), visiting her grave three days later in the rain, and then saying goodbye to your father and heading south - leaving him alone for the first time in over 54 years.  Now I sit in my home in Charleston, with thank you notes to write for the family, yet I haven't the heart to write them yet.

~~~~~

We are all okay though.  In time, we will be better than okay. 

My brother is once again practicing dentistry, I spent a few hours with the lab today (and more hours in my own garden), my niece is once again in classes and working, and my Father went grocery shopping yesterday and to his gym today - and tonight when I spoke to him, he was getting ready to buy 'wrinkle-resistant' shirts because, not surprisingly, my Mother always ironed his clothes for him.

~~~~~

So for my belated May Dreams Gardens Garden Blogger's Bloom Day post, I'd like to present the flowers that surrounded me last week - the flowers blooming in my Mother's beautiful Virginia garden, and the flowers sent to us by friends and family - flowers that my family were comforted by during a difficult week.  My brother and I are committed to the care of my Mother's garden - and when a former neighbor from here in Charleston came to visit my parent's home a few days after the funeral, she looked around my parent's garden, laughed, and said 'Boy, the nut doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?' 

My Mother lives on in my garden - and in all of the gardens where she shared plants throughout her 74 years.  I don't think I could count how many gardens that is.  It comforts me tonight to know that she is blooming all over the place.

In honor of my Mother, here is her garden.

~~~~~

 

    

   

Comments

[John B.]

Thank you for sharing your mother's life with us this way, both in this post and in all those other posts.

Wrinkle-resistant shirts--an optimist's purchase. I buy them, too.

[Les]

Through raising children, loving others and perpetuating the joys of the natural world, I think it is possible to live on beyond our time.

Thanks for sharing so eloquently what all of us will, or have faced with the death of a parent.

[Pam/Digging]

Thank you, Pam. Thanks to you, your mother has touched our lives too.

[Annie in Austin]

The flowers in your mother's garden and the florist flowers sent to say goodbye are all lovely, Pam. I'm glad they comfort you in some way.

You call this is a post for Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, so I'll answer as if it were one... your mother's groundcover looks like Golden Archangel, Lamium galeobdolon, the 'I should know this' could be Henbit and the blueberry flowers are especially lovely.

That must have been quite a drive.

Annie

[Agricola]

My thoughts are with you and your family.

[David]

Pam,

Beautiful, poignant, inspiring!
I am so sorry for your loss.

[3D]

A couple of months after my father passed away, I know that he helped me get a job. It turned out to be a very terrible job. But I've always thought my father did pretty good for me, all things considered.

[Carol, May Dreams Gardens]

This is a beautiful bloom day post, both in words and flowers. I am especially touched by these words,

"My Mother lives on in my garden - and in all of the gardens where she shared plants throughout her 74 years. I don't think I could count how many gardens that is. It comforts me tonight to know that she is blooming all over the place."

Thank you for sharing the beauty of your mother and her gardens with us.

[Benjamin Vogt]

As someone said, a wonderful tribute that connects us to your mother, and I'd like to add incredible writing that moved me. Thank you.

[Layanee]

Pam: I have a daughter. I would wait for her to say goodbye to me before I leave this world. That love will carry you through!

[Caroline]

Thank you, that was an incredibly moving, inspirational, and timely post. I've been thinking about this a lot lately and your perspective is appreciated. I'm glad you and your family "survived."

[jodi]

A perfect, and perfectly moving, tribute to your mother's love, life and legacy, Pam. I'm glad that you are all okay, and you're right--in time, you will be better than okay. And your mother lives on in her blooms all over the place, and in the love she bestowed on her family.

[Taylor]

What a beautiful post, Pam. Thank you for sharing your mother with us.

I'm terribly sorry for what you are going though...it's an awful thing. You're in my thoughts.

[kate]

Your mum's soul lives on in you and all of the lives she touched. I'm sorry I haven't been online much and am getting caught up on your blog. Fibroid surgery felled me for a spell, but the garden beckons.

I don't think there's any better place for healing our hearts and bodies than in a garden.

[anna maria]

I haven't read blogs in several months, nor written mine, so I apologize for being so late telling you how sorry I am that you have lost your mother.

What you wrote made me sad for you and for your family, and sad for myself, remembering my parents' death (my father's was from lung cancer as well).

Yes, you are right, you will miss her forever. When our loved ones die we continue in life with a thorn in our side. Nothing quite ever makes it go completely away.

I hope you are enjoying her flowers and yours.

All the best,
Anna Maria

[Pam]

Anna Maria, thanks so much. When I had read your most recent (last) post a few months ago, I did sense that you were coming back out into the world, after some difficult losses. Yes, I suppose we both understand lung cancer now - and I'm sorry to hear that your father was challenged with the same disease. A thorn - yes. I am muddling through, and I hope that you are continuing to be out and about, enjoying your world. Thanks so much for stopping by.