Pin the White Rose - Part 2

Mother's Day, May 12, 2013

Pin The White Rose - Part 1

Pin the White Rose - Part 1

Sunday, May 12, 2013, Mother’s Day, this will be our moment to pin the white rose for the first time.  The Christian Churches of our youths (mine and my siblings) have a tradition.  If your mother lived, you wore a red rose.  If she had passed into the next life, you wore the white rose.

But, today is Wednesday, a cool spring day with a mild wind. I’m in a search pattern in the area in which Mother’s grave should be.  The sun sets behind the heavy oak and pine canopies - green, vibrant and cleared far from this field of stone covered fragments. Christians slow their cars as they arrive for prayer service. I see only those approaching from the north along the narrow road. Most drivers take a right to crossover the churchyard via the loose gravel path above me.
There is no official parking lot or parking attendants in florescent jackets. There is grass and sandy-red dirt. Everyone knows how to park close to the entrance without blocking someone in.
The new church building is complete and stands on my side of the old building.  To me, it looks as comforting as the old church, a simply built rectangular shoebox turned on its side, slanted roof with steeple.

I turn back to find Mother’s grave, lay flowers, and to meditate. I don’t remember walking so far up the hill on the day of the funeral. That whole day was surreally real, a dream I knew to be true, an event for which we prepared because of her illnesses but were, nonetheless, not really that prepared. I find Mother’s family and walk toward the newer graves.

I look at the graves - even that of my mother’s mother.  That others have gone through this first Pinning of the White Rose doesn’t comfort me at all.  What does comfort me is that seven siblings are going through this with me.  They love her also.  Their children love her. Mother affects us all. She gave us gifts to treasure or cast aside. She planted good seed to cultivate or let died in dusty Earth.  She modeled morals upon which we could raise our aspiration or let them both plunge into a chasm of darkness.  Her prayers and example moved us to the better side of those choices. That is, in my case, for the most part.

I spread the stems over her grave.  She was Kellie Mae Mitchell Hardy in this life – our mother, friend, cheerleader, and teacher.   In her honor, I will Pin the White Rose for the first time. But, I must say, it just doesn’t feel quite right because her presence is still very palpable in so many ways.

Pin The White Rose - Part 2