A White Rose For Mama
As I write this, I just returned home after buying some white roses in memory of my mother.
I've been thinking about her more intensely with the coming of my first Mother's Day without her. And I've been weepy.
After Daddy died, Mama lived at her beloved farm alone. She continued all the things she had always done – planting tomatoes, taking care of her azaleas, forsythias, camellias, roses, sunflowers, hydrangeas, blueberry bushes, and weeding her flower beds. She loved outside work so much more than inside work. But that was Mama; and because of it, her yard was always flourishing with new growth. She had beautiful red roses she could see from her kitchen window.
In early 2022, we moved her into Bethea Baptist home after she had a brain bleed. It was the place where she had planned to live if, according to her, "there comes a time when I can no longer live at home." We children knew how much she loved the farm and we did the best we could to keep her there as long as possible. We visited her all the time - both when she lived at the farm and after she moved to Bethea.
At Bethea she still loved to grow tomato plants. She would save the seeds from her meals. We initially bought some flower pots for her to plant the seeds. They started growing so fast and so tall in her windowsill that I eventually went to Home Depot and purchased a raised planter box to put outside her window. My sister bought a trellis and together we tied her tomato plants up and watched them grow and she could see her tomatoes flourish. I would take her outside and she would admire her tomatoes and it was really a great thing. The staff and other residents began to call her "Farmer Frances" and they would gather those tomatoes and share them with each other. It was so sweet.
Mama grew tomatoes the entire time she lived there - until the last month of her life when she took a turn and lost interest in earthly things. It was like she was looking toward heaven.
On my last visit with her, I took her to a Christmas party, and when we got back to her room, she reached out and said "I know who you are." And I said, "You do? I'm Audrey!" and she said, "Yes. Audrey."
That was the first time she had said my name in months. Then she reached and hugged me like she didn't want to let me go. So I didn't let her go until she decided it was time. The next day when I walked in her room, she was sleeping, so I just stood there and stared at her. Then she turned, looked at me with the faintest smile. I exclaimed "Mama! This is just like when I was a little girl! Remember when I would walk in your room in the middle of the night and just stand there? I wouldn't say a word, but you would turn, open your eyes, look at me, and then you would say 'get in and don't wiggle.' So today, I'm gonna get in and I won't wiggle."
I got in bed with her, held her hand, and told her how much I loved her as I cupped her sweet face in my other hand.
She said faintly, "I know you do and I love you too."
Those were the last words I heard from my mother. I didn't know it then. I still thought I would have much more time with her, and even if that time was diminished, I didn't care because I loved her and loved being with her.
I remember leaving her room that day and seeing how sweet she looked. I was grateful for those two days. My brothers and sister had been there that week as well. And I told her one of my sons and his wife would visit her on their way to my house for Christmas. I also told her, as I always did, "You're my magnet! I'll be back and I will spend New Year's Eve and New Year's Day with you!" She smiled.
All of my children and their families had been with us at Thanksgiving. We celebrated the coming birth of our newest grandbaby as all the girls in our family gave Marilyn a baby shower. Then all the guys came and we took lots of family photos. It was over Thanksgiving that each of my children and grandchildren visited my mom.
As Christmas rolled around, we had a small Christmas with our youngest son and his wife. Then our son Jordan and his family came after Christmas.
They were there when I got the call early Wednesday morning, December 27, letting me know Mama had gone to heaven. Her nurse said Mama had the sweetest smile on her face. I'm sure she was smiling as the angels were escorting her into heaven. She was truly smiling at her future because she knew it was so much better than what she was leaving behind. And yes, I miss her like the dickens. Even though there were many times in this past year when she seemed not to know me, and could not call my name, it didn't matter to me because I knew her. My siblings and I always felt like deep down inside she knew us.
Sometime after her death, I brought the tomato box home. I left the dirt in it ... and now ... as Mother's Day approaches, her tomato plants are thriving– the ones she planted.
I can’t even begin to say how much these plants mean to me. She put those seeds in the dirt with her own hands and now there is so much new growth.
Jesus said this in John 12:24
24 Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
These tomato plants remind me that Mama's life is still bearing so much fruit in my own. Losing her, though I knew it was coming, has changed me. One thing I have learned is that nothing could have prepared me for such a great loss. Knowing the truth about death and knowing what the Scripture teaches helps as I walk through the grief. But it's like walking against high tide. You know how the water pushes against your legs, fighting against you, trying to push you down, and take you under? Yet you keep slogging through it, you keep going, and you make progress. Your legs get so tired and you get so wet but you make it and you're stronger because of it.
And then, little things she did, things she said, her smile, her laughter - they all crash in on me…like giant waves. And I am carried to the shore filled with hope…
And I am reminded my time is coming when God will take me home. And it matters how I live. Though I'll be gone, all I did, all I said, and the way I encouraged others will live on – it remains for those I love, and I want them to push against the waves and push against the water and become stronger because of it.
When I was growing up, it was tradition to wear a rose to church on Mother's Day - a red rose if your mother was still living and a white rose if she was gone. Today, I bought some white roses. It's been a long time since I've worn a rose on Mother's Day, but this Sunday, I'll be wearing a white rose for Mama.
I've been thinking about her more intensely with the coming of my first Mother's Day without her. And I've been weepy.
After Daddy died, Mama lived at her beloved farm alone. She continued all the things she had always done – planting tomatoes, taking care of her azaleas, forsythias, camellias, roses, sunflowers, hydrangeas, blueberry bushes, and weeding her flower beds. She loved outside work so much more than inside work. But that was Mama; and because of it, her yard was always flourishing with new growth. She had beautiful red roses she could see from her kitchen window.
In early 2022, we moved her into Bethea Baptist home after she had a brain bleed. It was the place where she had planned to live if, according to her, "there comes a time when I can no longer live at home." We children knew how much she loved the farm and we did the best we could to keep her there as long as possible. We visited her all the time - both when she lived at the farm and after she moved to Bethea.
At Bethea she still loved to grow tomato plants. She would save the seeds from her meals. We initially bought some flower pots for her to plant the seeds. They started growing so fast and so tall in her windowsill that I eventually went to Home Depot and purchased a raised planter box to put outside her window. My sister bought a trellis and together we tied her tomato plants up and watched them grow and she could see her tomatoes flourish. I would take her outside and she would admire her tomatoes and it was really a great thing. The staff and other residents began to call her "Farmer Frances" and they would gather those tomatoes and share them with each other. It was so sweet.
Mama grew tomatoes the entire time she lived there - until the last month of her life when she took a turn and lost interest in earthly things. It was like she was looking toward heaven.
On my last visit with her, I took her to a Christmas party, and when we got back to her room, she reached out and said "I know who you are." And I said, "You do? I'm Audrey!" and she said, "Yes. Audrey."
That was the first time she had said my name in months. Then she reached and hugged me like she didn't want to let me go. So I didn't let her go until she decided it was time. The next day when I walked in her room, she was sleeping, so I just stood there and stared at her. Then she turned, looked at me with the faintest smile. I exclaimed "Mama! This is just like when I was a little girl! Remember when I would walk in your room in the middle of the night and just stand there? I wouldn't say a word, but you would turn, open your eyes, look at me, and then you would say 'get in and don't wiggle.' So today, I'm gonna get in and I won't wiggle."
I got in bed with her, held her hand, and told her how much I loved her as I cupped her sweet face in my other hand.
She said faintly, "I know you do and I love you too."
Those were the last words I heard from my mother. I didn't know it then. I still thought I would have much more time with her, and even if that time was diminished, I didn't care because I loved her and loved being with her.
I remember leaving her room that day and seeing how sweet she looked. I was grateful for those two days. My brothers and sister had been there that week as well. And I told her one of my sons and his wife would visit her on their way to my house for Christmas. I also told her, as I always did, "You're my magnet! I'll be back and I will spend New Year's Eve and New Year's Day with you!" She smiled.
All of my children and their families had been with us at Thanksgiving. We celebrated the coming birth of our newest grandbaby as all the girls in our family gave Marilyn a baby shower. Then all the guys came and we took lots of family photos. It was over Thanksgiving that each of my children and grandchildren visited my mom.
As Christmas rolled around, we had a small Christmas with our youngest son and his wife. Then our son Jordan and his family came after Christmas.
They were there when I got the call early Wednesday morning, December 27, letting me know Mama had gone to heaven. Her nurse said Mama had the sweetest smile on her face. I'm sure she was smiling as the angels were escorting her into heaven. She was truly smiling at her future because she knew it was so much better than what she was leaving behind. And yes, I miss her like the dickens. Even though there were many times in this past year when she seemed not to know me, and could not call my name, it didn't matter to me because I knew her. My siblings and I always felt like deep down inside she knew us.
Sometime after her death, I brought the tomato box home. I left the dirt in it ... and now ... as Mother's Day approaches, her tomato plants are thriving– the ones she planted.
I can’t even begin to say how much these plants mean to me. She put those seeds in the dirt with her own hands and now there is so much new growth.
Jesus said this in John 12:24
24 Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
These tomato plants remind me that Mama's life is still bearing so much fruit in my own. Losing her, though I knew it was coming, has changed me. One thing I have learned is that nothing could have prepared me for such a great loss. Knowing the truth about death and knowing what the Scripture teaches helps as I walk through the grief. But it's like walking against high tide. You know how the water pushes against your legs, fighting against you, trying to push you down, and take you under? Yet you keep slogging through it, you keep going, and you make progress. Your legs get so tired and you get so wet but you make it and you're stronger because of it.
And then, little things she did, things she said, her smile, her laughter - they all crash in on me…like giant waves. And I am carried to the shore filled with hope…
And I am reminded my time is coming when God will take me home. And it matters how I live. Though I'll be gone, all I did, all I said, and the way I encouraged others will live on – it remains for those I love, and I want them to push against the waves and push against the water and become stronger because of it.
When I was growing up, it was tradition to wear a rose to church on Mother's Day - a red rose if your mother was still living and a white rose if she was gone. Today, I bought some white roses. It's been a long time since I've worn a rose on Mother's Day, but this Sunday, I'll be wearing a white rose for Mama.
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2 Comments
This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing these reflections during this tender time of grief. I was blessed by them. â¤ï¸
I love you. I love this. 💗😢🌸