She Doesn't Remember Why Alstroemerias Are Special

Before I made my wedding plans, I hadn't even heard of alstroemerias; but when I was telling Carla, my wonderful florist, the type of flowers I wanted (a mix of different kinds and different colors), she suggested that alstroemerias be included.  Fine with me!

They're hard to spot in the picture above, but they're in there, part of my bouquet that I loved so much.  I'm fond of all the flowers Carla used; but because alstroemerias had no prior association in my mind, I became especially fond of them.

So fond, in fact, that when my beloved grandmother, pictured above, was diagnosed with a brain tumor and only given two months to live, I gave her a bouquet of alstroemerias during my last visit to her here on earth.  It was wintertime, so no flowers were blooming outside; but on the stand next to her bed in the living room that was my parents' and is now mine, we placed the alstroemerias so she could enjoy their beauty.  They lingered while she grew weaker, then slipped away.  After that, alstroemerias always reminded me of her.

Two days ago, we went to visit my dear mother, and on the way, I dropped by the store to buy some pretty posies for her.  With Valentine's Day being right around the corner, there were a number of choices of cheery bouquets; but when I saw one that included alstroemerias, I didn't have to look any further.  That was the one for her.

The alstroemerias are pink, tucked into the sides of the bouquet--not very obvious at first glance.

But they're there--a subtle message of love and remembrance from my heart to my mother's.

Except she doesn't remember why they're special.

If she can remember my wedding, if she can remember her mother, if she can remember my identity, she cannot communicate to us that she can.  She is cheerful and peaceful and so sweet, but she says very, very little, so even if there are thoughts--of long ago or more recently--floating around in her head, she can't express that.  It is an understatement of the highest order to say that I miss conversation with her.

But I'm endlessly grateful for her, with or without conversation; and to my list of meaningful alstroemeria moments, I'll add a sunny Saturday morning in February when we went to visit my cherished mother and left a bouquet on her windowsill.