Home > Communication, Death, Dreams, Family, Love, Parenting, Uncategorized > Daffodils on Mom’s floor

Daffodils on Mom’s floor

After my mom died, my siblings and I laid a bouquet of daffodils at the spot of her passing. 

I wanted to include a picture of that bouquet in a post earlier this year, but I couldn’t find the picture, though I spent hours looking. 

My kids both fell asleep early this evening. I paused in the middle of doing some chores and decided I had to immediately compare pictures of my eldest son at five months with pictures of my currently five-month-old son.  

There between pictures of my mom’s life celebration and my beloved friend Piete playing with my then tiny older son, I found the photo. Not when I wanted to find it, nor what I was looking for now, but perfectly timed.

One of my most popular posts was about who my oldest son is meant to be. Right now, it is my job to discover who I am meant to be. It’s challenging and thrilling wrestling with this question. While my more logical side scoffs at the idea of signs, my softer side is primed to read anything and everything with a sense of wondrous inquiry: What am I supposed to take from this moment?

Many months after I first wrote how I feel my mom still, tonight I feel enveloped in her loving presence. And while part of me thinks it’s absurd to read too much into finding a single electronic picture of flowers on a floor, another part of me feels like my mom is guiding me back to that room. Back to that dream of standing with her at its doorway, and my sense upon awakening that I could–as her daughter, the daughter of an Amazon–be or do anything … anything at all, except lose her.

DSC00245

Advertisements
  1. August 26, 2014 at 3:49 am

    I’m so glad that you’re searching for your dream! Speaking as someone who discovered what she wanted to be when she ‘grew up’ after she was 30 years old … well, it’s an awesome feeling when everything suddenly clicks together. Good luck on the journey!

    And I know EXACTLY what you mean about looking for signs, even as the logical side scoffs. 😉

  2. cardamone5
    August 26, 2014 at 6:40 am

    I think we’ve talked about this, but I too lost my mom. I know the feeling of feeling her around you, and keening to live up to the potential you know she knew you have. It is so nice that you mention her and treasure her memory through your blog.

    Fondly,
    Elizabeth

  3. August 26, 2014 at 7:25 am

    I lost my brother a year and a half ago , and I just blogged about a very long chain of seemingly random events that led to a beautiful discovery, a message left by him. And it came at a time when we all needed it.

    So, I don’t think it’s absurd at all.

  4. August 26, 2014 at 8:10 am

    No stranger to Japanese culture, I thought about you the other day as I read these examples of haiku by Matsuo Basho (1644 – 1694).

    The snow we saw together—
    does it fall
    this year as well?

    And,

    Sadly, I part from you
    like a clam torn from its shell,
    I go, and autumn too.

    Here’s something I wrote for you in tanka form:

    How can it be that
    her yellow daffodils are
    here and they still bloom
    near and far and non? Six hands
    for lifting , tilling , … planting
    from her fertile floor.
    GS 2014

  5. August 28, 2014 at 4:31 pm

    I lost my mom 10 years ago. I still receive “kisses from heaven” she sends. It gives me so much comfort. I miss her all of the time. Glad you found the photo and received the “kiss!” Catie

  6. August 29, 2014 at 2:07 pm

    Why absurd? I think we find love notes, exactly when we need them. I think we are nudged into discoveries, exactly when we need them. My heart mother once said to me, at a very low point in my life that where God gently taps some people he through bricks at my head to get my attention, I was just that hard headed. At the time I simply stared at her in amazement, now why in the world would someone trying to convert me to her way of thinking about God say something this foolish? Then I realized, it was a love note. She was showing me the silver lining in the cloud, how much benefit had come from the terrible. She was showing me the great beauty, despite the horrible and for her that was God.

    Now, I always remember her telling me that. Whenever there is something terrible I look for the brick and think of her throwing it.

  7. August 31, 2014 at 10:50 am

    Beautiful. And such hashgacha to find the picture exactly then. Chills. It’s a good reminder to me how out concept of the right time isn’t always actually the right time. You know?

  8. September 3, 2014 at 6:54 am

    You will find what you are searching for, Deb. Of that, I am certain. God bless you on your journey (and maybe that’s really what this is about – not the destination, but the journey …?).

    Peace,
    C

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Please weigh in--kindly!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: