|I was sent to the arms of an angel.|
So I went out and bought her flowers....not just any flowers. I bought her pink roses...her favorite. And that day when there was cake and ice cream and presents for me to open.... I felt sheer delight when I handed her that bouquet of pink roses. And she cried. And she hugged me for the longest time and told me how good it made her feel. And I remember her taking one of the dried roses when they died and putting in the family album and writing under, "from my baby girl."
And so started a tradition. For the rest of her days with me here on earth, I bought her pink roses on my birthday to thank her for being my Mom. And each year she was just as surprised and cried just as hard as she had the year before.
Later, when she moved to heaven, and I had the heart breaking, gut wrenching miserable task of sorting out her things and going through it all...I found each and every pink rose that she had saved for all those years....all 37 of them...each taped carefully to those pages in that old torn album with the same message underneath and the year it was given. And I cried so hard because that tradition that meant so much to both of us had come to an end.
|My Mom the year before she Moved to Heaven|
Oh, I still take her pink roses on my birthday and I sit by her grave and tell her how lucky I was that God chose her as my Mother. But the hug is not there and I can no longer dry her tears of joy as I hand them to her. And the sadness is so profound that it takes me a while to put on my happy face carry on for the rest of the day.
I know it's selfish of me to wish she was here because I know she is in a far better place than what this world could ever offer. I know that she is celebrating eternal life with no sorrow or tears or pain. I'm not sure what my mother is doing today in Heaven. I guess I won't know until I go there and find out myself. But here’s what I do know, whatever she’s doing, she’s home. That’s what Heaven is... Home.