African violets

I remember the colour of the African violets — a jewel toned purple, my favorite. I remember the feeling of receiving that wonderful gift as I lay in my hospital bed. I remember my mother and her anxious face when she brought me this thoughtful gift. I felt the soft, fuzzy petals between my fingers and thought that this was the most beautiful expression of life that I had ever seen. I don’t remember exactly when I rose from that hospital bed. I don’t remember exactly when I started walking without assistance. I don’t remember exactly when I was fully recovered. But I do remember those African violets because they were a symbol of love, my mother’s love. A love so deep and so profound that I’m brought to tears as I think about those lovely African violets and her lovely African face. I equate my mother with the flower — proud, purple and full of compassion. I wish I remembered what happened to those African violets…