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Red and white roses.
Apr. 27th, 2009 07:01 amOne of my earliest memories:
It is the summer when I am 3 years old. My parents still live on 18th Street, and we're still attending church with my mother's parents. (My father's parents were never strong churchgoers.)
It is Mother's Day Sunday, and Granny and I have gone out to the back yard, to cut roses for the centerpieces of our corsages. Granny cuts two red roses and one white one.
I ask why, and she explains to me that I get a red rose, because my mother is living. My mother gets a red rose, because her mother-- that is Granny-- is living. And Granny gets a white rose, because her mother is in Heaven.
I figure out that someday, far far in the future, Granny too will be in Heaven, and it will be my mother with the white rose. I decide that this will be a long time from now.
I sent my Granny a dozen red roses for her birthday, two months ago.
I'm glad I didn't wait for Mother's Day.
It is the summer when I am 3 years old. My parents still live on 18th Street, and we're still attending church with my mother's parents. (My father's parents were never strong churchgoers.)
It is Mother's Day Sunday, and Granny and I have gone out to the back yard, to cut roses for the centerpieces of our corsages. Granny cuts two red roses and one white one.
I ask why, and she explains to me that I get a red rose, because my mother is living. My mother gets a red rose, because her mother-- that is Granny-- is living. And Granny gets a white rose, because her mother is in Heaven.
I figure out that someday, far far in the future, Granny too will be in Heaven, and it will be my mother with the white rose. I decide that this will be a long time from now.
I sent my Granny a dozen red roses for her birthday, two months ago.
I'm glad I didn't wait for Mother's Day.
