My Mother, 89, Observes a Particular Rose:
I continue to do little creative writing exercises
with my Mom. One evening, recently, I cut some
white and pink roses from the garden - one that she
no longer is able to attend and care for anymore.
I placed the flowers in an alabaster vase
and put them on the coffee table in front of the couch
where she routinely sits after dinner. I take my journal
and pen and ask her to tell me what she can say
about what is going inside one of the roses. Without
question, after concentrating her gaze for a moment,
she starts:
"Before one looks into the heart of a Rose
One sees a very delicate pink, eager to come forth
To come out in public. But, as the days go by
It becomes much larger, almost arrogant.
A central color is precise and ready
To take the Rose on many an experience:
Wouldn't you like to go further in studying
This magnificent piece of budding life -
Now really of much broader experience?"
Similar to an earlier piece, I continue
to find it astonishing the way my Mom may
invite one to look at and value her life without
being at all conscious she may be doing so:
Before the final window of disappearance.
I don't know why that last line came to me. But it seems
important - whether she live one more year or five -
to value the profile and fullness of what can still be given.
And that we, too, as we age, be given the same gift
which is just, perhaps, another way of saying
"Go and be among elders, too."
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