"43,824 Hours..."

In a short few hours, it will have been five years (43,824 hours) since that early morning as I slept at her feet, that my mother left me for Heaven's gate.

I’ll never forget the last things that she said to me, the last time I kissed her cheek, or the last time she told me she loved me. She and I often spoke of love and her hopes that I'd meet the right "girl" even though I'm sure she realized that there would be no right "girl" in my life. Although she's “gone from my sight,” I have loved her more with each day that passes. A part of my mother lives on in my heart until that day when I am able to be with her again.

Although she didn't live to meet the person I would come to love with the whole of my heart, I took him to meet her... On Mother's Day two years ago, Stephen went with me to the cemetery to place a wreath on my mother's grave. I would often speak to him about her, explaining how I had learned much of what I know of love from my mother's examples.

Early this morning, I'll be at the cemetery visiting my mother's grave alone, but I know I'll be thinking of when Stephen was there with me. I'm sure my mother will be wishing he were there with me as I thought and told her many times, he would be forever more...

Something I shared with Stephen even before we met was that my mother loved roses, especially pink ones. I gave her pink roses often. This morning, I'll give her another twelve pink and perfect roses. I'm sure she'll be smiling while looking down on me this morning.

The Language of Roses
There are messages behind different colors of roses… They have a language all their own. This was started by the Romans and used in the Victorian era as a discreet way to express one's feelings to another…

Pink roses have several messages, depending on the shade. Deep pink roses symbolize gratitude and respect, while light pink roses show sympathy; and as with all roses, no matter their shade, their message is love.

In Remembrance, My Mother’s Favorite Poem
“Ballad of the Tempest”By James T. Fields

We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,--
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,--
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring
And the breakers talked with death.

As thus we sat in darkness
Each one busy with his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spake in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.

I listened to my mother recite the “Ballad of the Tempest” often throughout my young life, and for the last time, around January 2004... And as she recited this poem of simple faith, though the passing of nearly four score years had made her body frail and her voice sometimes soft and fleeting… On that day, Mother’s voice clearly and sweetly reciting “Isn’t God upon the ocean, Just the same as on the land” reminded me that there is more to life than just this mortal existence.