I walk down the rows of hanging baskets suspended in the greenhouse at the garden shop and I can’t help but think of my mom. For many years, right before Mother’s Day, I would always browse the hanging baskets looking for just the right one to give to my mom. I would try to envision it hanging just outside her porch. Later in the summer, when I would stop by for a visit, she would comment how beautiful the basket looked in full bloom.
All of that is now a memory since her passing almost two years ago. This is my second Mother’s Day without my mom. Like so many others who have lost their mom, today is filled with mixed emotions. There is grief in remembering the loss, but as I strolled through the garden shop this weekend I could not help but smile as I recalled when my mom first introduced me to gardening.
I was six years old and about to finish my kindergarten year. I was in the afternoon class and a few hours before the bus picked me up, I helped my mom plant her garden. I distinctly remember her showing me how to dig a trench and carefully place the seeds in the trench before covering them with dirt. I was amazed weeks later when I saw green sprouts emerge through the dirt.
There was something about that moment that stuck with me. It was one of those rare moments, in our hectic household of eight kids, where we were on our hands and knees, eye to eye as she helped me plant those seeds. It was just her and I in the garden plot sharing a moment together.
Perhaps that is why I still enjoy gardening. Each spring I still plant seeds and take great joy in seeing the sprouts emerge from the soil. It reminds me of memories of loved ones planted long ago, that still sprout in my mind. It reminds me that memories with loved ones can still be planted today.
The Next Half Century 