I stopped by the cemetery the other day to place some flowers on the grave of a loved one of mine who had passed away. And, as I was standing there remembering, shedding a tear, I noticed a young man not far away. He was talking and I couldn't help but overhear. I was so moved by his obvious heartbroken grief, that I ventured closer hoping that with my elder wisdom I could offer him relief. I knelt beside him and offered my hand. his held a single wildflower not commonly found in this part of the land. His eyes were swolen, tears drenched his face, his hands were encased in steel. He looked but didn't see me. It was as if someone he knew had knelt there in my place. Then he laid the flower beside the stone marking the grave and again he bowed his head, the words rushing forth, echoing, as if spoken in a cave.
"Mom, so often you've asked me to tell to you my innermost thoughts 'n' the things that I do.
Is it that I truly don't believe or is it my fear of your understanding I'll recieve?
It's true there are times we're apart, in body and mind, yes, even in heart.
But, those times are necessary, those times must be done.
For it's never, ever, ever that two individuals can really be one.
If you only knew of the love I contain locked within my breast for eternity to remain.
Mom, I learned early in life on those streets of my youth not to show the concern for
those I would help lift from their strife.
They didn't want to know of my love for them.
I'ts I that was hurt every time I ventured from within.
So the walls were built around this heart that cared
and words of compassion go unspoken, I never dared.
This world I've been given is a cruel one indeed.
No matter how loud or how often I screamed, they would never heed.
You live, even now, as a saint.
Your faith forever is true, but my world is evil and faith is a dollar bill or two.
That I love you with all the being I possess is a truth need not spoken.
Accept this flower as you would my love though it's merely a token.
Mom, listen to me now as I think my thoughts of you.
My darling mother, my faith in you is blessedly true."
The young man rose and brushing stray bits of turf from the knees of his jeans, he walked slowly to a waiting car, a black and white four door with emergency lights and a siren. I looked at the flower resting on the stone at my feet, and, just then, a sudden gust of wind blew the small flower out into the street. Each time I return to visit the lost loved one of mine, I look for that young man. He's never there, nor has he been and I'm always suprised at what I find. Around the stone where we knelt so many years ago, a small patch of wildflowers not commonly found in this part of the land always seem to grow.
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