Last week I was in the vicinity of my dad’s memorial site–Bourne National Cemetery—and I decided to swing in and pay him a visit. As I drove in, I saw many sites decorated with Christmas wreaths and other holiday arrangements. I became aware of a feeling, and wondered what I would find at dad’s plaque site.
There was a simple basket of bark and artificial flowers with bells. How ’bout that. I wasn’t sure who had left them but it made me happy that he hadn’t been left out.
Later I called mom and she told me that she has a standing order with a local florist, for several times a year. I called her today, trying to grasp a word or phrase to describe why she does this, what it means to her. Finally, she decided on connection. Like the river, winding, surging, slowing—She does this to connect with him, though it barely be ashes under a plaque. And the river flows.