When I think about delight in its simplest form, a whole manner of cliches come to mind - chocolate, romance, a pretty sunset. Who am I kidding? It's a sickening combination.
The sad truth is, my happiness comes from a far differen source, miles apart from the previous three. How many, after all, would admit that it was someone's death that inspired their happiness?
I thought so.
I was fourteen, young, naive and in the midst of examinations. The last thing I wanted was to be at a funeral, especially since the person in the casket had been like a mother to me. I remember watching as they carried the coffin out to the graveyard out back, followed by a number of arrangements - flowers shaped like angels and delicate words I could never say.
Don't worry, the laughing comes later.
Weeks passed and the mourners left one by one. I watched as my mother withered away in the graveyard, watering the flowers morning and night. I half expected the priest to come knocking at our door, praying for the soul of my ghostly mother.
The day inevitably came that I failed my exams and returned to a house of flowers; my mother and aunt sat on the couch with shadowed faces, the dead chrysanthemums of the cemetery in a bucket behind them. When they told me of their plans to create a thing of beauty, I laughed.
Within a year, they were creating angels angels with golden wings, purple framed lettering, a snowman with glass eyes and a top hat.
The reason I associate funeral flowers with happiness is that it wasn't until our front room had no heat and finding the phone became an expedition and I walked with a constant limp due to holly leaves, which I kept finding in my shoes, that I saw my mother laugh. I deeply believe that moments like those are better than any selfish cliche.
Showing posts with label flowers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flowers. Show all posts
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
Delight is....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
