Mothers' Day Remembered

On Mothers' Day long years ago

at our small German Lutheran church in our small town

everyone received a flower-

carnations, either pink or red-

their pungent odor censing the air

red for those whose mothers were still living

pink for those whose mothers had died

brilliant red singing of life

tender pink sighing of death

The ushers handed them out

from two vases filled to overflowing with the blooms

handed them to every one who climbed the stairs 

to the sanctuary on the second floor

handed them to men and women, girls and boys,

since each and all had a mother who had given them life,

who had borne them, gladly or sadly, into this world

a reminder and remembrance, a way 

to honor the sanctity of creation, 

to honor the holiness of every human life, 

to honor the ones who had served as the crucible 

for each life present that day.

And though this was far beyond

my child's understanding, I loved taking flowers

to the cemetery after church, 

loved seeing people tenderly placing gentle pink blossoms 

on the graves of those much-loved

loved seeing the vase on the family dining room table

in which stood five red carnations 

with a pink one in the center for Pop-pop's mother, 

my never-met great-grandmother, held ever and always

in his heart.