I remember as a little girl,
Wandering to the vacant lot in town,
Stopping to pick the prettiest wildflowers,
Then running them home to my mom,
I don’t remember what she said,
But she kept them ’til they died,
So, I know she must have liked them,
And I knew, though flowers fade,
Her love never would.
Years flew quickly as they do,
Mom got sick. “Cancer” was the word,
We visited her in her hospital room,
Saw flowers from friends standing by her bed,
When my thoughts were so confused,
What’s a little girl like me to do?
The blooms reminded me of better days,
Though her body was so weak,
Her love was still strong.
February. A gray, cold day,
Standing there among the graves,
The pastor spoke. I didn’t hear a word,
Why did life have to be so cold?
Then as people drifted away,
Daddy gave us each a dark red rose.
We laid them on the wooden box that
Held her body. She’s in heaven we know,
Where roses never fade.
More time passed, a couple years,
A kind lady smiled and said,
What flowers would you like to carry,
A little bouquet or a basket instead?
I told her I’d dreamed of a flower basket,
And I carried them on that day,
It seemed like all of heaven was smiling,
The day we gave Daddy away,
And Mom’s love is blooming,
Still blooming today.
In loving memory of Rosanne Marie, who went home fourteen years ago today.