Thank you for not listening…

My mother bought a house next door to me in West Blocton many years ago.

I paid 32,000 for mine and hers was similarly priced.  You can picture the simplicity.

We lived slowly and simply and we liked it that way.

I still do.

One spring, she decided to pay someone to landscape her yard.

I remember being so frustrated that she was spending that kind of money on her yard.  I could think of so many things that house needed other than flowers.

(And yes, I know that is very ironic considering my current love affair with all things green and blooming.)

But thankfully Mother didn’t listen to my opposition any more than I do most of the time to my children. 

There is some type of sweet beauty in our past disagreements.  No anger.  Mostly a nostalgic mix of feelings where my memories comfort me with love, forgiveness and finally an understanding.

I would give absolutely anything for Mother to have lived long enough to see my life now. I am sure she would laugh at what I spent on just gardenias and hydrangeas last year. Not to mention birdseed.

I have a daughter that reminds me regularly of the relationship we had. Sometimes we are in agreement but we still seem to be arguing.

And I remember Daddy looking at me and saying, “I wish my Mother could have met you.” I now understand how he felt.

It is puzzling and painful how that understanding only seemed to happen with my parents absence.

I comfort myself with the fact that I can see my parents in both my children and grandchildren.  Mother could be so kind and compassionate. Daddy could be so tender hearted and humble.

I lost Mother 5 years ago and one spring after losing her Daddy said, “look at that tree”. I smiled and told him Mother planted it. He did not remember it but I could tell he liked that.

It is funny what memories you leave with your family. The value of them is much more priceless than possessions.

Just like with me, not a spring goes by that I don’t drive by that old house and thank my Mother for not listening…