When I was small, my grandfather would come and cut part of our grass while my Dad was at work. It always irritated my mother that he would just mow down all her flowers. She would point them out every time; he would nod his head, and the minute she went inside, he'd mow 'em down.
When I was 8, the night my Dad was to preach his first sermon, my mother was diagnosed with melanoma. They had to cut a spot out of her calf that was a little larger than a softball, as well as take a skin graft from the opposite leg to cover the opening. My grandfather, who didn't have a lot of money, bought these HUGE pillows so she could keep her leg elevated to eliminate swelling. And he also bought a whole bag of bulbs and planted where Mom had her flowers. Mother about croaked when she saw the receipt in the bag; she said he paid a fortune per bulb. I don't know what he paid, but I do know that everywhere we have moved, we have transplanted half of the bulbs. They multiply, and we have left some and taken some from every parsonage or house we've lived in. A few years after Bobby and I got married, Mom and Dad showed up with several plants in the back of the truck. Every time they bloom, I get excited. It's my reminder of a family who loves me, and that home is truly where our hearts are. I guess these red & white amaryllises are beautiful to me in more ways than one, and I post them today as a tribute to my Mom.
Comments