I was walking outside one weekend on a beautiful Texas spring day. I came across a small patch of wildflowers, and suddenly they brought me back to a memory from close to 20 years ago I had long forgotten.
I was in middle school at the time. I had learned how to press flowers, the amateur way, in a book. I had picked some wildflowers, the exact same ones as the photo, placed them inside a tissue, and pressed them in the middle of a thick, heavy book. It was a side profile press. The flowers were on top and the green stems on the bottom. After a few weeks, I took them out and glued them onto a bookmark. On the bookmark, I had written something in pink glitter gel pen. It was for my mother.
I can't remember if it was Mother's Day or her birthday or another special occasion, but that doesn't matter. I glued the flowers underneath my writing and placed the paper on my dad's desk. I wrote him a note asking him to laminate it at work, and I left a small pile of change next to it.
He pulled it out of his briefcase a few days later after he got home from work and gave it to me. I punched a hole in the top and ran a ribbon through it. I gave it to my mother as a gift soon after. She liked it, I think. I honestly can't remember the moment of giving it to her. But I know she kept it in her Bible as a bookmark.
When she died, we put her Bible in the casket. The bookmark was left inside. I don't know what it actually looks like anymore, and I never will.
I wrote a letter to my mother and left it inside with her. In the letter, I wrote about the big milestones I knew she would miss: graduations. engagements. weddings. grandchildren. Those are the big things. Those are expected. Those are what I could envision and think of as a young teenager.
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Grief is different so many years later. It doesn't affect me everyday and my life doesn't feel "sad" because of it. I enjoy my children. I enjoy my life. But every now and then, all it takes is a small patch of wildflowers to bring me to tears.
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