I spent Mother's Day in deep reflection on the passage of time. The grief of missing my Mom resurfaces each May since it falls one month before the anniversary of her death. This June was the 20-year mark. I had lived more years without her than I had with her. The disbelief deepened, knowing I had been a mother for half of that time. It was bittersweet to reflect on how much growth and change happened within to make me the woman I am today.

Grief is cyclical; even when you're decades out in your journey, deep work must be done to make room for growth. Planting flowers with my daughter felt like the proper meditation for such reflection. There is a level of patience, care, and maintenance required.

“Our lives are made of moments strung together, life and death along a never-ending stream we call life.”

— Leigh Calvez

We chose the seed varieties and marveled over how unique each one was. Some seeds were shiny and slick, and others were coarse and dull, all holding the potential of growing into tall green stalks accented with fuchsia, yellow, and orange blooms.

It didn't take long for the seeds to sprout, and my daughter was excited over the tiny green peeking through the dark soil. She made labels for each flower on popsicle sticks and organized the seedlings onto a tray.

We prepared the overgrown container beds by pulling weeds and removing past seasons' remnants. The soil was dry and needed a good soaking. It was a two-person job to untangle and lug the old green water hose through the backyard. The spigot shaped like a flower squeaked as it turned, followed by the hiss of the water coursing through the twisted tubes. The parched earth came to life as the water flowed. We burrowed holes to place the seedlings and added the labels.
All that was left to do was wait for the flowers to bloom.

A bright orange zinnia made an appearance a few weeks later. It was a beautiful symbol of time shared with my daughter in memory of my Mom. The comfort in knowing the effortless flow of connection through little acts of love.
Gentle healing can happen in a garden.

“Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
’Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too”

— Landslide by Fleetwood Mac