Roses for Mother's Day
Sacred Sorrows welcomes back "Meags," contributing writer. Meagen Winter resides in Arizona with her husband, Paul, her dog, Cooper, and her service dog, Tango. She's a school counselor and a lover of all souls. Meagen is the mother of Maria, who went to heaven in May 2020, and her surviving children Nicholas, Andrew, Claire, and Katelyn. In July, Meagen will become a first-time grandmother.
As Mother's Day approaches, I am reminded of Mother's Day 1996.
My husband and daughter planted a rose bush early for Mother's Day. They babied the rose bush and prayed that the bush would bloom in time for Mother's Day.
Over the months, watching and listening to them talk about the roses was a secret joy.
They counted the roses on the bush the night before Mother's Day.
Early Sunday morning, they were out in the backyard cutting the roses. I was still in bed and anticipating my bouquet. The sounds of their voices disappeared, and all was quiet.
Where are they? Where are my roses? What are they up to?
Half an hour later, they were back. No roses.
They delivered the roses to the Blessed Mother Mary at church. My heart deflated, sucking pride out but filling back with love.