Wednesday, April 2, 2008

My Mom is consistant

I took this picture today and decided to write about my Mom and her love for me, even though she crossed over seven years ago. Each year in March - now seven times - a single bloom grows on our Christmas cactus. I wrote about this a few years ago and included my story below. Today, I was urged to write a poem, so here it is:

A single blooms comes bursting forth with all its might
Opening, opening, opening to the Light
A gift from Mom, in Spirit now
Showing me love, teaching me how
To love and love and give freely
From now until Eternity

“Hello” From Beyond The Veil
Nov 22, 2003

Life is sometimes very strange, indeed. In 1993, I’d heard my Mom quit smoking and I thought ‘if Mom can do it, I certainly can.’ I did, and I’ve never looked back. Unfortunately, Mom started to smoke again. In 1999, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. Years of smoking finally caught up with her.

My mom, Vi Hutton, crossed over on March 2, 2001. As you can imagine, it was a very difficult time for us all. We rallied round each other and did what had to be done, just like most families do.

My mom didn’t seem to be a religious sort but she made sure we always went to Sunday school and had the opportunity to make up our own minds. Having the love of God and Jesus Christ instilled in me at an early age has been a saving Grace on many occasions. This was definitely one of them. Prayer and meditation saw me through many a tearful time. Now, as an adult, I've chosen a spiritual life-path, though not a religeous one.

My Mother loved people and was always there to lend a hand or simply enjoy a good laugh. She was just a regular gal. Or so I thought...

A few days after she died, I asked my husband, Norm, to have a look at the Christmas cactus in the bedroom. I thought I saw a bud on it. We’d had it for about ten years and it had only ever bloomed around Norm’s birthday in the middle of November. I always thought to myself, ‘some Christmas cactus! It always blooms five weeks early!’ He confirmed what I’d seen.

I did some research on the blossoming of this plant and found out that March is usually the resting month for Christmas cactus. I watched in amazement as a single bud slowly formed over the following few weeks. On the first day of spring, it was in full glory. This tiny flower was the size of my baby finger. It looked like a shocking pink and stark white flying angel. My mom was wearing a shocking pink head covering when she passed. She loved this colour. I fussed over that little bloom and took many photos of it, sending them off to family and friends.

One day, as I prayed over the flower, I began to laugh. This truly was a sign from mom and showed her weird and wacky sense of humor. In life, she couldn’t keep a plant alive in her home and when she died, there were multiple silk and plastic flowers all over her house and on the balcony. Now, here she was, growing this one perfect flower. God’s goodness flooded my being and I wept in gratitude. Sometimes the veil that separates us from our loved-ones is very thin, indeed.

The following year, I wondered if I was going witness the same thing, but as I pondered over this question, nothing happened so I thought it was just one of those quirks of nature.

On the second anniversary of her passing, it happened again. I have been blessed each year since. I cannot even imagine the kind of energy it takes for my Mother to manifest something as dense as a flower. I appreciate her efforts and will always cherish her memory in my life.

In spirit, she is a great help to me continually lifting my morale, making me laugh, and cajoling me. She reminds me to not take myself too seriously. She tells me to go out and play. She says, ‘you don’t have to make a career out of spreading the butter on the bread, you know!’ And, sometimes, she sings to me. I just stop and sit quietly, with tears standing in my eyes, when this happens. Lately, her song of choice has been, “I’ve got a crush on you, sweetie pie…”

It really doesn’t surprise me that my Mom is still with me. She was always there when I needed her and I need her now, more than ever.

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