Oh Sweet Lavender

The gentleman at the Farmer's Market offered me a slender sprig of lavender. Accepting the gift, I smiled and gave my thanks. Then I brought the bud toward my nose and inhaled deeply. The fragrance transported me backward in time, to a place where every daughter goes and needs to return to occasionally. The sweet smell filled my senses and with each breath I saw her more clearly. Her gloved hands holding the trowel, her eyes dancing with laughter, and her distant demeanor when I craved a gentle hug. I think I have a guardian angel who leads me to the aromatic flower when I need it the most. Like when life is unsettled and your feet can't find the right path. Or when your firstborn grandchildren will enter this world without a great-grandmother's touch. I read that lavender is resilient, hardy, and that most gardeners succumb to the urge to grow the plant. I have one in my backyard. My mother gave it to me. I wonder if she knew I would need to sniff the buds from time to time. To recall, to appreciate, to forgive. I like to think that the bond between a mother and daughter is as strong as a lavender plant. No matter the disappointments, the bruises, or unfulfilled expectations, the love between the two stands tall. And when secret memories are shared, whether through thought or word, they will always be framed by beauty, peace and undying love.