Remembering Mother -- Mildred Davenport Adams (aka Gigi)

5/9/10 I have a rose bush in my side yard. Not “knock out roses” ---more the kind that look a little scraggly but still have a fragrance. Owen found it last night. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
As a child, I remember always wearing a red rose on my dress to church on Mother’s Day. You got to wear a red one if your mother was still living. You wore a white one if your mother was dead. That seemed so morbid to me as a young girl. It also seemed to me that only old people wore a white rose or a fancy cymbidium orchid corsage. The only friend I had who would have worn a white one was Carolyn Cowherd and she went to the Church of Christ, not my church, so I never had to come face to face with that fear. But it was a fear! More than seeing all the roses as a way of honoring mothers, I saw them as a clear delineation of life or death.

We snipped the rose buds out of our backyard just before going to church. They were tiny, deep red roses that would open wide when in full bloom and smelled wonderful. Mother would cut one for all of us---even my brothers had one pinned to their left shirt pocket or the lapel of their sport coat as they grew older. None of us ever thought about not wearing our “Mother’s Day” rose.
At church, everyone else in Sunday School would have on their rose as well. Then we would all head into the big First Methodist sanctuary to “our pew” and join our parents for the 11 o’clock service.

It was tradition. Though rose bushes are in full bloom all over Memphis this week, I wonder if kids will have a bud pinned into their lapels. Over the years I’ve noticed a decline in this tradition. Only a few “older” women wear a corsage. I don’t know if that it is still true in my hometown or not as I have not been there on Mother’s Day in 10 years. May 2001, I was going home Mother’s Day weekend to attend church with Mother and to wear my red rose. I was afraid it might be my last time to wear a red one. Indeed it was. It was hard to come face to face with that old fear. To make matters worse, I got sick and was unable to travel that weekend. It’s one of my big regrets.

This Mother’s Day, I remember Mother and wish I could wear that red rose. I vividly remember her tall frame, beautiful thick hair and perfectly “made” face, gorgeous clothes and impeccable house, with windows so clean they were the "talk of the town." My children will remember their “Gigi” as well, because she continued to be their cheerleader just as she had been mine.

This morning as I walked toward the house after picking up the Commercial Appeal, I sidetracked to that sideyard rose bush and clipped one---a bright red one. Even as an adult it’s too chilling a thought to think that I would have to wear a white rose.

I’ve decided to acknowledge that Mother is very much alive in my heart and actions. I think that would honor her. So, that’s what I’ll celebrate today.

Amazing isn’t it---what memories a single red rose clipped from a sideyard bush can cause to flow through your head and into your heart!.