Time in a Bottle

It was a bittersweet Mother's Day. Sweet because all my children were home for the weekend. Bitter, because I lost a dear friend. Mary was special to me and special to my children. Her death was unexpected and jarring to all who loved her.

Losing someone who has been part of your own life story tends to make one introspective. I was contemplating life's deep messages and life's transient nature. Time Passing. Time Spent. Time Utilized. It was pretty heavy around here.

Until the honeysuckle.

When I was a little girl, my grandmother had a huge backyard. Along one fence, honeysuckle vines grew. When the vines bloomed in the spring, the air was thick with the flowers sweet scent. My cousins and I learned a secret about the blossoms. Our Nanie shared the secret with her daughters and her daughters shared the secret with their own children.

Did you know that fairies use the honeysuckle trumpets for fairy feast? Actual children could partake of what the fairies drank. Gently pull the flower from its end and a long stamen will pull out-be ready, because at the end of the stamen is a drop of honey. A tiny drop, but so sweet, one would fight the bees and butterflies for a taste.

When my own children were small, the honeysuckle bloomed in our own backyard. I shared my grandmother's secret and they would spend hours at the vines. Much talk was made about harvesting but results ended up in their mouths before any gathering could be accomplished. My children were ever on the alert for fairies but only fleeting glimpses of the tiny folk were reported. They were always hopeful they could share the feast with the fairies at another time.

Saturday, after the service, my family returned home and gathered on our deck. My boys were getting the grill ready for burgers, my girls were preparing the sides and the grandchildren were playing in the back yard. My husband and I observed them all, feeling grateful but melancholy.

Everyone converged on the deck about the same time and Annebelle and Wagner came running up to the patio. They held their hands out to me. In their fists were honeysuckle blossoms. Sweet, sweet honeysuckle blossoms. Blossoms held by my beautiful grandchildren. "Come on Oh-Mommy. Let's get more honey. Hurry, before the fairies get it all."

Its true. Who we are and who we were will be remembered after we are gone. The chain of lives is connected by those we love and who we share our time here with. My Grandmother, my Mother, myself, my children and my grandchildren- linked by flower. I knew in that instant that life is sweet, as sweet as children, standing at a honeysuckle vine. chrissie