My way

About a week and a half ago I completed a project I'd been working on for weeks. I guess "working on" is misleading. Dreading is more like it. I bought flowers and supplies, wire and styrofoam. I was all set to make an arrangement for Mary's grave. But after I brought the bags home from Michaels and Joann, I couldn't get started. I think I felt this overwhelming pressure to get it just right. After all, this is the only tangible representation of my love for her, right?? So i better not screw up. This is what "people" will see when they go by her marker and what will they think if her flowers look pitiful? Don't you know there are critics that publish long columns about the disgraceful, tacky arrangements left at local family cemeteries? I'm sure my Mamaw knew where they hid, or at the very least was convinced they were somewhere. What would she think about my pitiful attempt at the floral arts?

I finally worked up the nerve to get set up in my shop in the basement. My first attempt was an epic fail. I was so frustrated and embarrassed and sad, I almost scrapped the project all together. But after another week had gone by, I decided to try it again. As I sat working on it, I realized that I was not doing this for Mary. She is perfect, complete, and in the arms of Jesus. She is not worried about her flowers, I am. And I am worried about what others will think. Then I realized that this arrangement that sat in pieces in front of me was more than an art project. It was an act of love. It wasn't a measure of my love, but just a symbol of it. There is really nothing I can do for my baby girl now. I can't change her diapers, feed her, dress her in adorably ruffled clothes and hats, or take her strolling through the mall with me to window shop. This is all I know to do as her mommy. It's the only way I know of to give of myself to her. So I hope she knows I did it for her, purely out of love. I miss her so much.