Hibiscus Flower

Today marks the fifth anniversary of my mother’s death. I know people prefer “passing” which, in my opinion, is just to lessen the harshness and finality of “death”.  She “passed on” contrives images she just went somewhere else. But she died, and death is harsh, painful, and rip-your-guts-out hard. Oh, we try to dress death up in pretty clothes to make us feel better, but it’s just a façade.

Since I am a “plant person” (which I got through my mother’s genes I am sure), I find solace in planting flowers and plants and watching them grow. Seeing a tiny sunflower seed turn into a 12 foot giant over the summer, is nothing short of a miracle of nature. After all, it took 18 years for my son to grow to 6’7”. (Yes, he really is that tall.) Watching perennials return even bigger and better after winter knocks them out gives me hope I can get through life’s “winters” and come out on the other side too.

After my mother died, I wanted to memorialize her in some way. My mother did not have an easy life, nor a healthy one. If I can be half as strong as her, I will have done myself proud. She always said, “I hope I make it to 75.” She was a New Year’s Eve baby, and celebrated her 75^th birthday and the new year with all of us. It was to be her last.

Shortly after she died, I tore out a large strip grass in front of our walkway and feverishly planted 75 pansies. Under ¼” of topsoil it was pure fill dirt, yet they grew beautifully into a curving swath of watercolors that looked like butterflies when the breeze kicked up. I went out every day and picked off the dead blooms as some sort of therapy.  Yes, I talked to her, and I still do. Just not out loud anymore.

To mark the first anniversary, we planted a pear tree. I also began giving away plants as a way to memorialize her-to keep her love of plants and flowers spreading.  I have had lovely experiences in sharing my plants with others. They’ve told me they have planted them in her memory; said prayers when they planted them; call them “Lori’s mom’s plant”. They send/give me updates on how they are doing. Mom would be smiling, or maybe she is…

Because tonight, after my husband went to bed and I was working on some paperwork, I was sitting here alone. I became so sad, missing my mom-turned-best-friend in our grown lives, my eyes started filling with tears. I knew it would come before the night was out. I went on Facebook to distract myself, and immediately recognized a plant with a large red hibiscus flower on it posted by a friend I had given a plant to. Almost shining in the bright sun, her caption read, “The last hibiscus bloom of the summer.” If a flower could, it would have been smiling. How fitting that today would be the last bloom of the summer.