Forgive another account of my spring joy. I have a favorite white lilac shrub that perfumes our backyard. I cut a large bunch for a short-lived bouquet, and now the living room is also saturated with fragrance. I only wish the season for lilac blooms was longer because they literally feed my senses with delight.
My mom wasn’t a flower person…she didn’t really care to receive them as gifts, and she didn’t plant them. But there was something about lilacs that warmed her heart. In fact, lilacs were the one flower my mom requested for her funeral. Sometime later my brother snuck over to her grave site and planted two smaller lilac shrubs. They are thriving.
Mom’s birthday was last week. She would have been 77 years old this year—still young by today’s standards. On her birthday was when I first noticed my white lilacs were on the verge of blooming. I took a deep breath and caught just a hint of the scent that makes me linger and sigh. I looked up and said, “Mom, I don’t know if you get to smell lilacs in heaven, so please enjoy them through me, now.” The next several days I found pennies in random places—a token I believe she sends me—so I guess she appreciated her birthday gift. Today the lilacs seemed extra fragrant, maybe it was the warm breezes, or maybe the connection to Mom seemed stronger. Either way, it was the best part of my day.