Memorial

"Let's hope the peonies last," my mother says. She is young and beautiful on most other days, but today she ages as she hunches over them, examining the brown edges that have appeared on a few, lifting the bent and rain-bruised blossoms skyward, willing them to fight for life.

"Just one more day," she says. "They'll make it, won't they?"

I do not answer, for she doesn't speak to me.

Peonies are only good for one thing. They bloom for a few short weeks, their useful life coming to an abrupt end on Memorial Day, if not earlier. If they survive that long, we go to the cemetary, my parents, and my grandparents, and me.

My childhood yard contains only a few daffodils, a short fenceful of morning glories, and a couple of rose bushes. But everywhere, it seems--separating us along property lines from regular, daisy-intensive families--are long, unending hedges of peonies. You'd think our next door neighbors would have a use for some of the dreadful, ant-covered blooms, but no.

Only my mother tends them, only my mother needs them. As it turns out, only my brother waits for them.

I am six, and seven, and eight back then, and I don't know much. Even so, I remember enough from peonies-gone-by to wish the horrible things an early demise.

"How are you today?" Grandpa asks my mother, cautiously. My mother's eyes are dry, then, so there is reason to hope. He and my grandmother exchange glances, and pray, and wonder. We pile into his car for the long, terrible trip. The peonies are put into the dark, cool trunk, their private tomb.

"Fine," she says, and out of nowhere deja-vu sets in. I hold my breath--motionless--for the annual ride, frightened with remembrance of graveside weeping and gnashing of teeth, hoping she really is fine this time, but certain now that she isn't, won't be--can't be.

Memorial Day comes early this year, and the peonies need little coaxing to live until tomorrow. But still, my heart can't help but cheer them on, in her honor, in his honor.

"Let's hope the peonies last," I say, when only I am there to hear. "Let's hope they make it one more day."

Posted by Katy on 05/25/03 at 03:52 PM

Fallible Comments...

It's so funny that you wrote this, Katy. One of my students brought me peonies from her yard this week, and, to me, they brought back such wonderful childhood memories. Playing in the yard, hanging out with friends, just being a kid in a great neighborhood. Not once did I think graveyard. This shows me again how different our childhoods were.
-----
Posted by Bridget on 05/25/03 at 06:21 PM
good thoughts, katy - well written, my fellow pensive friend.
Posted by lisa on 05/26/03 at 11:14 PM
Bridget--Two different lives. In a way, two different homes. Both with strong pluses and minuses. You lost a daddy too soon, I lost a brother. <br><br>Lisa--I do long to meet you! Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to pense together!
Posted by katy on 06/06/03 at 03:26 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Memorial "Let's hope the peonies last," my mother says. She is young and beautiful on most other days, but today she ages as she hunches over them, examining the brown edges that have appeared on a few, lifting the bent and rain-bruised blossoms skyward, willing them to fight for life. "Just one more day," she says. "They'll make it, won't they?" I do not answer, for she doesn't speak to me. Peonies are only good for one thing. They bloom for a few short weeks, their useful life coming to an abrupt end on Memorial Day, if not earlier. If they survive that long, we go to the cemetary, my parents, and my grandparents, and me. My childhood yard contains only a few daffodils, a short fenceful of morning glories, and a couple of rose bushes. But everywhere, it seems--separating us along property lines from regular, daisy-intensive families--are long, unending hedges of peonies. You'd think our next door neighbors would have a use for some of the dreadful, ant-covered blooms, but no. Only my mother tends them, only my mother needs them. As it turns out, only my brother waits for them. I am six, and seven, and eight back then, and I don't know much. Even so, I remember enough from peonies-gone-by to wish the horrible things an early demise. "How are you today?" Grandpa asks my mother, cautiously. My mother's eyes are dry, then, so there is reason to hope. He and my grandmother exchange glances, and pray, and wonder. We pile into his car for the long, terrible trip. The peonies are put into the dark, cool trunk, their private tomb. "Fine," she says, and out of nowhere deja-vu sets in. I hold my breath--motionless--for the annual ride, frightened with remembrance of graveside weeping and gnashing of teeth, hoping she really is fine this time, but certain now that she isn't, won't be--can't be. Memorial Day comes early this year, and the peonies need little coaxing to live until tomorrow. But still, my heart can't help but cheer them on, in her honor, in his honor. "Let's hope the peonies last," I say, when only I am there to hear. "Let's hope they make it one more day." Posted by Katy on 05/25/03 at 03:52 PM Fallible Comments... It's so funny that you wrote this, Katy. One of my students brought me peonies from her yard this week, and, to me, they brought back such wonderful childhood memories. Playing in the yard, hanging out with friends, just being a kid in a great neighborhood. Not once did I think graveyard. This shows me again how different our childhoods were. ----- Posted by Bridget on 05/25/03 at 06:21 PM good thoughts, katy - well written, my fellow pensive friend. Posted by lisa on 05/26/03 at 11:14 PM Bridget--Two different lives. In a way, two different homes. Both with strong pluses and minuses. You lost a daddy too soon, I lost a brother. <br><br>Lisa--I do long to meet you! Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to pense together! Posted by katy on 06/06/03 at 03:26 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Losing It Previous entry: Read All Over << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri