|My name in a child's scrawl is still legible on the base.|
We recounted many shared moment together growing up, then she gave me the flower pictured. I had given it to her mother in the early `70s. She had kept it until she passed away in `94 and my friend had taken over its curation.
My friend's mother had six children and many grandchildren -- out of so many talented kids producing artifacts why she had kept my flower is a mystery. She thought it looked nice is the answer that springs first to mind.
I am touched by the memory, by the kindness of this family, by my friend's bringing me the actual flower instead of just telling me about it.
Looking at the flower, as I have over the past couple of days, reminds me of the person I imagined I'd be when I was a child and the person I am. I can't help but feel that somewhere, somehow I did something right. This thought inspires me to return to some elusive core, a place free of suspicion and cynicism. A reminder to let the anger and details of daily life fall away, and be the person I choose to become.
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