The other week for Mother’s Day, I ended up buying flowers. I went to the store a day before, in order to avoid the rush on the day of and to say that I was not that last minute in procuring a gift. Entering my local Safeway, I had the intent to purchase a premade bundle.
However, as I continued to browse the rows of flowers, I suddenly changed my mind—I decided to try my hand at flower arrangement. It was something I’ve considered before and even searched for classes. Although my Google searches were done in the middle of the pandemic, which yielded zero results, I still held onto this interest since.
Looking through the wide selection, I wasn’t sure what to get. I didn’t want to be typical and get roses, nor did I want to get tulips or carnations. After fifteen minutes of indecision and walking down other aisles to clear my head, I decided to go with my intuition.
Using my gut, I picked out a flower of light amethyst with leaves that resembled a vegetable. It was atypical, not the usual type of flower universally liked by everyone. But it had a charm that I couldn’t deny. With it, I purchased a bulk of baby’s breath and went home to arrange.
I cut the stalks, brought out the vase, and made two separate sets, one to display in front of my grandmother’s picture and one for step-mom when I visit the following day. It looked nicer than I imagined, albeit only being two types of flowers, and I was proud of the outcome.
Now, weeks later, the flowers that I placed in front of my grandmother’s picture have dried up, no longer brimming with life. I knew that I needed to throw it away, to clear up space and make room for future flowers that I might purchase or arrange. But as I held them in my hand and twirled them around, I realized something: even in death, they looked marvelous.
There are still tinges of purple and small slivers of green, still visible despite. With the petals pointing downward you could say that it’s merely resting before it makes its triumphant return. Back to life, back to its original beauty.
But we all know that fleetingness is one of the charms of flowers. How they are beautiful in the moment, but eventually, that beauty fades and we accept it as something natural. Looking at the dried up petals and feeling the rigid stem, I’m reminded a lot about life.
How it’s so temporary, how nothing lasts forever, how everything has an end. It might sound sad, sure, but it’s also a reminder to live life to the fullest. To not shy away from the challenges and to tackle everything head on, so that in the end, hopefully, there will be no regrets. So I continue to house these dried up flowers as a reminder that even endings can be beautiful, that death is not the end.