February 07, 2007

The Gift of Flowers

Snapshots In My Time...
Of My Time.....Hauntings.

Mother's Day Gifts. That has been a source of problems in years past for me. I was the good child. I had to be. I had to do whatever I had to to survive. I realized something was wrong with my mother at an early age and that is the only thing that saved my life. I lived in survival mode 24 hours a day. Well, one Mother's Day I had money to spend. I was excited. I was going to do something wonderful for my mother in hopes that just one day...that one day...I would get some glimmer of hope that I was loved by someone in the world--my mother. I got a beautiful card. I also ordered a dozen roses. I had arranged for the flowers to be delived on Saturday. I was so very excited. As far as I could remember she had never gotten any sort of flowers--not even from my father.

I was quivering with excitement all Saturday morning and by noon my flowers had not arrived. I called the florist to check. They had a lot of deliveries that day but I was still scheduled. Around 2pm the door bell rang. I stayed in my room and let my mother answer the door. It was the florist! I would be the favorite child now--or at least for the day. My mom got flowers and the card and took them to the living room. I still did not tell her they were from me. She would have to read the card to find that out. My father, brother and I all went to the living room to look at those beautiful red roses.

She read the card and looked at the flowers. She said they were pretty. She left them on the living room table and went to the kitchen. Well, there was nothing I expected. Where was my, "thank you?", my hug and a kiss and a compliment for such a beautiful bunch of roses? The ooh's and aah's over the beautiful card? They never came. I was hurt and decided I would wait a little while and ask her about them myself.

The crushing blow came a few minutes later and I did not even have to go ask her about the gift. She came to me. My mother had the card in her hand and she told me she did not want it. She then began on the flowers. She said she hated them and hated flowers and hated flowers that came from me.

She said flowers reminder her of death and she did not want them. I did at that time speak up for the flowers defense. I told my mother that roses were flowers for love and caring, not death. Lillies and carnations were what were normally used at funerals. She did not care. My flowers reminded her of death and she hated them. I was afraid to water them or go near them for fear of what could happen. My hard earned money was gone. My beautiful roses died an early death with no one watering them. Soon they disappeared from the living room. I looked at those roses everyday they were there wanting to water them. To keep them alive for me. As they died, I died a little more inside.

That day was a long time ago and to this day I have never given her flowers again. Can't. Now for me, I love flowers. I love to give flowers and love to get them for any occasion. Or for no occassion at all. They are just beautiful. Dot Flowers in the link above is buzzing with fabulous flower gift ideas and gorgeous gourmet gift baskets perfect for anyone on your list for any occsaion or no occasion at all. They can even offer same day flower delivery. Who can beat that?

Now there is quite a variety of flower arrangements to choose from. Why there is even flowers for men. I can only recall once when I got a man a manly bouquet of flowers for valentines day. Believe it or not, I had it delivered and it was most appreciated. I was worried. Men getting flowers? It all worked out. There are even gourmet gifts to choose from ...basked filled with al sorts of good things to eat. The site provides award winning customer service devoted to ensuring our complete satisfaction with every order . I do not think you can go wrong with anything on the site. They look so good that they can even be used for work/business/corporate gifts.

Flowers? I love them. I will be getting a very nice selection this year.


Post a Comment