Redbud for Mama

The summer before my mother died, we were talking about her wishes--what we should do with her body. She wanted to be cremated--no surprise to me--and to have her ashes put with those of our beloved cats and dogs who had predeceased her. "I don't know," she said, "plant a redbud or something. I love redbuds."

That fall it occurred to me that if mama loved redbuds so danged much that she'd want to be planted with one, perhaps I should plant one for her while she was still alive.

She died a week before the first redbuds bloomed.

That year our tree had one tiny little blossom. The next year, three. And so on. It seems I planted the world's most reluctant redbud. It doesn't help that every year I talk about fertilizing and forget to do it.

Anyway, this year every little branch has some blossoms on it. I wouldn't say the tree is covered, but it looks much less like Charlie Brown's redbud. And so, tonight as I was going out for my evening photo shoot, I took a picture of Mama's redbud for her. This is for you, Mama.