A Final Note on Mother’s Day

As anyone who frequently reads my posts should know, i am not a fan of government declared or what i deem silly holidays, like Valentine’s Day.

i save my vitriol on Mother’s Day because it just seems disrespectful. But, of course, i wrote my post about the mothers connected to me today.

Then, when i was driving to brunch with Maureen and Sarah, i passed, as usual, the Glen Abby Memorial Gardens. i don’t think my wife or daughter noticed, but i did.

The woman stood by herself on the hillside. She wore black, but it was not pure black. She had long black hair. i could not see her face, but she looked young, and i guessed pretty. From my distance, it looked like the long dress had flowers in the black fabric. Roses, perhaps, i thought. When i was growing up and we went to church on Mother’s Day, in addition to being dressed up and spit shined by our mother, we all wore roses. If your mother had passed away, you wore a white rose. If you mother was living, you wore a red rose. What a nice tradition it was. i hoped the flowers on the woman’s dress were white roses.

In the short glimpse i had as i was driving by, she was looking at a headstone, as if she were praying, or perhaps talking. i really don’t know that either, but that’s the way i wanted to remember her. i did.

It occurred to me the government, actually President Woodrow Wilson, got this one right. i think it good, cleansing, healing, and respectful to take one day and dedicate it to remembering and thanking mothers.

The woman on the hill made me realize that.

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