My mum passed away very suddenly last August. Nobody expected it. I was not there. She lived 300 km from the city I’ve made my home.
A few days ago, I spent some time in my mother’s garden. The Tibetan prayer flags are gone, and the hammock and rainbow umbrella are not out; but the wind chime is still there, still bringing a sense of meditative stillness to the place.
The garden is dominated by this season’s hollyhocks that my mother did not live to see, which have grown and are in full bloom. They stand waving in the wind, rising above a jungle of untamed growth around the fruit trees, a reminder that there is much work to do here.
They are a reminder, too, that often things do not turn out as we expect; that the supposed certainties of the future may not pan out quite as we suppose or imagine.
But we have to accept the twists and turns of reality – as one of my blogging friends says, we must accept the impermanence of the way life rolls.
Copyright © Matthew Wright 2016