My mom loves flowers. Although my parents live in the shade of tall oaks where there is no grass and only dappled sunlight, she revels in the daffodils of spring, the daylilies of summer and the mums of fall. Nothing gets her going quite like an offer to go to a nursery to look at the flowers!
She admires them in the public spaces, too. When we drive to town she notices all the hanging pots and flowers in Clarkesville (Thank you, Charlie and team!). She notices the crepe myrtles blooming and admires that color or this color. I especially love it when she tries to name her favorite color. She’ll say, “Oh, I would love to have me a dress made out of that color!” Usually it’s purple or pink that catches her eye.
Then there are the variety of flowers. The chrysanthemums come in too many colors to choose just one. A trip to Lowe’s elicits a response like a kid’s in a candy store. As long as the weather is tolerable, she can walk in and out of the rows of plants for hours.
A few weeks ago we made our annual pilgrimage. “Which color do you want this year, Mom?” I asked. She circled the display three or four times. “I love the yellow the best,” she replied. Yellow is almost always her favorite in displays at the store. But she loves the orange and the rust and the burgundy, too. We ended up with a trunk full of every available color.
As we were driving home, I was grateful for a good visit and a sweet time with Mom. I asked her what she was thinking about. “How much I love spring time,” she said. I was thinking about autumn and the leaves changing, so, I assumed she was in the same season with me, but her mind is so fluid these days she’s not confined to the calendar or seasons. That still sometimes startles us. When she asks if she needs a jacket in the middle of summer it catches us by surprise. We are very aware of summer’s unrelenting heat, but not Mom. No matter the temperature, her body usually tells her she’s cold.
The temperature, the calendar, the seasons…they just don’t matter to her anymore. Years slip by in the same fluidity. One moment she’s eight years old, then twelve; the next, she’s occupying this year but can’t recall how old she is. Or where she is. But she does love these woods. These flowers. The spring. And haven’t the flowers been more beautiful this year?
Mom’s mind may be fading but, in many ways, she sees things much clearer than I do. When my own eyes are clouded by life’s crazy schedule, heartaches and frustrations Mom pulls me into her beautiful present. She gets me to stop and appreciate the roses or chrysanthemums or whatever happens to be blooming right in front of me.
And isn’t that what matters? Enjoying the moment we live in. Appreciating the flowers for their beauty no matter the season, no matter our season.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Donna Bunn James moved to Clarkesville, GA in middle school after her father retired from the Air Force. Years after college, she and her husband Michael returned to Habersham County to raise their three children here.
Donna is a gifted and professionally trained musician. She attended the prestigious North Carolina School of the Arts in Winston-Salem, NC and holds a Bachelor of Music in Voice Performance from Furman University in Greenville, SC and a Master of Arts in Teaching from Piedmont College in Demorest, GA.
She is an in- demand accompanist for school and community performances throughout North Georgia, teaches piano and voice lessons, directs the Mountain Voices Community Chorus and the choir at First United Methodist Church in Cornelia. Amidst her many jobs she makes the time to care for her aging and ailing mother, Ruth.
Donna’s desire is to give caregiver’s a place where they can come share their stories to let others know, “You are not alone.” If you have a story about caregiving or know of resources that might help others who are caregivers, please contact her at [email protected].
