We greeted the embassy security with a "Salamat Pagi" and walked out the green gate. At the edge of our housing complex, I spotted a scattering of my favorite flowers. They had fallen from a nearby tree in the morning breeze and were strewn across the road. White petals on black asphalt.
My mom and I picked them up and held them to our noses. I collected them until I had a handfull. Mom tucked a perfect blossom behind her ear.
When we got home, we put them in a bowl. And for the next few days, each time I saw the bowl with the flowers, I remembered my morning walk with my Mom.This morning I went for a run, alone. I was on the verge of loneliness, but then I noticed that on almost every block, my favorite trees were blooming. White flowers scattered across the road right in my path. I had to jump and leap to keep from crushing them under my running shoes.
I bent down and picked up this perfect bloom.These flowers are more than beautiful. They are part of a memory. And every time I see one, I will think of my Mom.
That's so beautiful. After Mama's funeral, we went to the grave site on a lovely hillside in Midway, Utah. As our empty hearts pondered our loneliness--so fresh and tender, a golden hawk swooped down, soaring over our heads in silence. I had the sure thought that Mama was now free to fly and to be and to serve and to do all that she couldn't in this life. Flying with laughter in her wings. Now every time I see a hawk, I feel Mama's spirit is close and watching over me and my family. My Angel Mama, forever by my side.
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