by tamarjacobson

Quote of the day:

It's so curious: one can resist tears and "behave" very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses.  Colette


I was reluctant to throw out the white Dendroblum Orchids that my son sent me on the day of the shiva for my brother. They were so delicate and fine – almost pure – and when they arrived I wept with sorrow and joy all mixed together. It felt good to be remembered, noticed, and supported for my confusion and grief. Each time I walked into the room, the flowers seemed to glow back at me a greeting of love. The bunch of rust colored chrysanthemums I had bought myself that day for the occasion seemed to pale in comparison to the flowers I received by surprise delivery. Especially significant was the note that arrived with them, "Understanding how difficult this is, with sympathy and hope," it read. But no signature. I stood still for a minute, maybe shorter, when I realized they must have come from my son and his woman friend. She has a wise soul, and has seen her share of sad times. I texted them: "Did you send me flowers?" "Yes," was the response. 

Counting down to Thanksgiving, how could I not be grateful for flowers?