Vivid

When I spotted these gerberas in the supermarket the other day, I couldn't resist them: my Mum loved the combination of red, orange and yellow flowers, and my sister and I chose roses in those colours for her funeral - though in more muted tones than these.

I've been going through one of those phases recently in which you wish you still had your parents around so you could tell them about good stuff that's happening and enjoy their enjoyment of it; and feeling rather ridiculously orphaned because they're no longer here to be chatted with. Given that it's now more than seven years since my Dad died and will quite soon be the fourth anniversary of Mum's death, I feel as though I should be used to their absence by now - but I suppose these things don't go in straight lines.

Being an atheist I have no belief in any kind of afterlife, but on days when I'm feeling bereft I do take comfort in the words of a famous Jewish prayer I read at my mother's funeral:

At the rising of the sun and at its going down
We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and the chill of winter
We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and the rebirth of spring
We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer 
We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn
We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends 
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live; for they are now a part of us,
As we remember them.


When we are weary and in need of strength 
We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart 
We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share 
We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make 
We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs 
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live; for they are now a part of us,
As we remember them.