Alyssum

I miss my mom.  She died unexpectedly Oct. 21, 2005.  I had talked to her on Thursday night, telling her I would see her on Friday.  Fortunately, the last words I said to her and she said to me were, "I love you." She was gone Friday morning from a bleed in her brain.  I can honestly say my mom was the only person to ever take care of me.  Even when I became an adult, her nurturing nature enveloped me.  We talked every day.  When I went over there, just her listening to me refueled me.  I miss her so much, especially now, struggling with my daughter (whom, I might add she adored).  I don't think I would be telling her anything that has happened, but just to be near her and hear her voice would be so helpful to me.  Sometimes I miss her so much, tears well up in my eyes. 

So, last Friday, after I came home and my daughter was on her way, I started talking to my mom.  Telling her how much I missed her and how much I need to know she is still here.  I need to know I'm not alone in this.  Sat. afternoon I went to my dad's.  I stopped and got him lunch.  He is 89 in two days and still lives alone, cuts his grass, drives, walks a mile a day--it's pretty amazing.  Anyway, each spring I plant flowers in his yard, more as a tribute to my mom, than anything else.  She loved pink begonias and impatiens.  She also liked to plant white alyssum as a boarder.  Two springs ago, I didn't need to plant the alyssum, because some have been reseeding themselves, and it looked as though it would continue.  By midsummer, they were very sparse.  This year, I planted the begonias and impatiens but no alyssum, hoping they would reappear.  (Each time I went to my dads, the other flowers were doing well, but the alyssum was sprouting in pockets, and very thin).

After lunch, my dad and I went out to look at the yard.  I don't know how I had missed it when I went into the house, but the begonias and impatiens were doing well, the formally patchy alyssum, however was everywhere!  It was bordering the flowers, pouring over the wall at the side of the house like a waterfall, but the most amazing part was that it was growing where the driveway meets the foundation of the house.  There is no dirt there, but in one continuous stream of delicate, puffy-full plants, it runs all the way to the back of the house.  My  dad just looked at me.  My eyes started tearing.  I looked at him and said, "It's mom.  She's still here."  The look in his eyes was, for a moment, like a child's. He smiled, "You think?"  "I know, dad.   I"m sure."  And we stood there, smiling at the alyssum, blooming so beautifully and full.  Thank you, mom.  I feel refueled.