Daffodils

After I was born Dad greeted Mom in her hospital room with a big bunch of daffodils. Maybe that explains why I’ve always had a special fondness for them. I know Dad’s bouquet touched Mom deeply because she spoke of it often throughout the years and loved picking daffodils each spring.

When I was very young Dad continued honoring Mom on my birthdays with special gifts. Mom said that he had done the same for his own mother on his birthdays when she was alive, as his way of saying thanks to her for bringing him into the world. When old enough I decided to continue what Dad had started and gave Mom gifts on my birthdays, too. It became something I looked forward to doing each year, especially since these gifts typically were spring flowers, reminiscent of that first bouquet of daffodils Dad gave her. This tradition also helped provide comfort to Mom and continuity when Dad passed away in 2002, for my yearly gifts reminded her of him.

Mom passed away in February 2012. Although her health had been steadily declining for several years, a heart attack took her in minutes. Unknown to us at the time, the conversation we had just hours earlier was our last. Emptiness replaced the companionship we had shared. Bleak winter days following her passing matched the loneliness I felt inside. After a few weeks passed, milder weather came and the first spring daffodils bravely poked their way through the ground. My sense of isolation began to lift at the sight of these flowers emerging, bringing promise of better days ahead. As the daffodils’ cheerful yellow petals unfolded a little more each day, so did pleasant memories of Mom.

Witnessing life’s continuing cycle as evidenced by the earth’s renewal reminds me of God’s love and faithfulness. He knows my heart and provides each day for my needs even before I know them myself. This year the daffodils were particularly beautiful. My grandson brought me some on my birthday.

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