Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

People used to send flowers.

My mother died when I was five, so my memories of the house at that time are sketchy and incomplete. I remember with clarity that awful day when I learned the news, a congregation of black in our kitchen and living room, and the nightmares that tormented me through the following months. The house was likely filled with flowers, but I do not recall them.

Since that time, the sending of flowers has fallen out of favor. Death announcements now direct us to send contributions “in lieu of flowers.” How ironic that the “Flower Power” generation has turned this expression of sympathy and grief into a faux pas.

Over the years, I’ve mourned the passing of grandparents, cousins, uncles, aunts, sweethearts, friends, and parents. None of these brought flowers to my home, though cards did come, thoughtful and sincere.

Last week, though, with the passing of my wife’s mother, suddenly…flowers.

Flowers from friends, from family, from neighbors. Trucks arrived with bouquets, and orchids appeared on our doorstep unannounced. It is the first time I’ve experienced the receipt of such gifts and I must say, they are surprisingly powerful.

Flowers are a tangible expression of the affection of others. Their scent, their beauty, have reminded us through this past handful of days of our connections and the love felt for us, for my wife especially. Yes, the cut flowers wither and die, but we are in mourning, and we cannot avoid–should not avoid–thoughts of death and mortality.

The bouquets remind us of the ephemeral nature of our existence, but they also emphasize our resilience. Cut a flower from its base and it will soon fade and shrivel, but remove me from my rootstock and I will put down new roots. Separate me from my home waters, and I will find new aquifers, draw from new streams of love and support.

Today, some of the flowers will go into the compost, there to decay into the earth and replenish the plants of our gardens. Later, more will join them. This is altogether fitting and proper.

Flowers sent are not a waste, any more than is a casserole brought over by a concerned neighbor. Both are expressions of the kindest, most tender feelings we have: the desire to commiserate, the urge to comfort.

k