On the other hand, I am so grateful that I got to share the weekend with them. I see my mother in each of them: her prowess, her compassion, her temper, her unconditional love. They made me feel welcome. They let me talk about my mother. They made me laugh.
Standing in a sea of white petals and tourists, I imagined what my mom would be doing. She would have pulled a branch to her nose and taken in the scent. Putting the flowers to pursed lips as if to kiss it, she would have proposed, "How can someone not believe in a higher power? Look at this craftsmanship." Holding out the flower for me to examine, she'd continue, "Somebody had to design those intricacies."