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White and Red
13 May 2024
Yesterday was a somber Mother's Day for us, the first in our long, long life without our mother. We remembered years ago attending mass on Mother's Day with our father. At the church, the men were given carnations, a red one if their mother were alive and a white one if she wasn't.
Mother's Day. Apple iPhone Pro Max back triple camera 6.8mm at f1.8, 1/4608 seconds and ISO 64. Processed in Adobe Camera Raw.
First occasions are an opportunity to establish traditions. We really didn't know what to do, if anything, for Mother's Days without Mom.
But we had work to do at the house. Drawers to go through still and books to box up and glassware to wrap. So we drove over to what she referred to as her "married house."
When we pulled into the driveway, we noticed the JFK rose we had recently fertilized was in full bloom. We featured it in a January slide show when it first bloomed this year. It had been quiet until we fertilized it.
We thought we might take a bloom to the cemetery where her name had recently been added to the headstone she shares with Dad. We put a fallen petal on the driver's seat to remind us.
Then we got to work. Or tried to. We couldn't find the packing tape we use to tape the boxes. It wasn't with the boxes where we left it. But a brother and his wife had swept through the place recently. They might have used the last of it.
Since we had to drive over to the mall to buy more, we took the clippers and selected four roses to bring to the cemetery. One for each son.
We were only a little amused to be wrestling with a cagey spider all the way over and back.
We didn't want to try to put them in water in the gravestone's two holes because we didn't think they'd stay up. Instead, we thought we'd lay them across the bottom of the stone, a blanket of affection.
And in so doing we began a Mother's Day tradition to replace the one we lost.