My weekend is slipping in, effortlessly amidst this days heat, kids are sprawled about with books under fans, I would send them into the water but a few are coughing and germs spread quick among my half-dozen lovelies.
When these slowed days come, I always read. Its my way, always has been.
And sometimes a story sweeps me away, I am altered by its very meaning, the course of its words.
One such captured my heart, brought my very breath right down to a hush,
on a slow day in years past, an unraveling story of a stunning soul, young
Florence Marigold
its author her brave Mother Michaela, the gifted curator of words.
She invites us in through her blog, to journey life and death, passionately loving, exquisitely humbling.
And if you may steal away from your own busy to read and be moved as I have, the live of her story can be found at.
When you do you will understand this letter and pictures of our own
Florence Marigold Garden.
My humble tribute to a wee girl and her family who has faced the brittle fear of loss, so transparently, it has altered the very essence of my Mothering.
Dear Michaela, Jay and baby Teddy,
I have wondered a hundred times over as to how to appropriately open this letter and for weeks no meaningful enough word of comfort has come, only a bare empty page has stared back at me after countless attempts. But today I am determined, very feebly to write you, and with deep humbleness express my gratitude towards your sweet Florence.
I am a young Mother, somewhat shakily finding my way through the days of mothering six little wonders. Often overwhelmed by the necessity of each ones cares and needs, beautifully altered by the weight of each soul and the treasures that lie deep within. The simple logistics of my days can pummel my enthusiasm towards mothering. Yet over the years I have had a few stunning mentors who have revealed the honest of every breath, staying put in each ounce of joy and living with the intention of beauty.
Florence and your families journey has been one such teacher and has powerfully shaped the way I live and mother. The way I tuck each one of my children into my heart and gather them in arms, the way I slow our days, richly seeping in the years of childhood, oh how I hang on to these moments of health and innocence with reverent gratitude.
You have artistically revealed your story and captivating beauty of Florence’s bravery and each of your families stunning spirits have altered the way I treasure life, live it, and teach it to my children.
Over the last weeks, I have held my children longer, looked into their eyes and valued them humbler, deeper, I have burrowed my kisses into their cheeks more frequently savouring each of their tears and lingered in their laughter. In those moments, when life is rich, Florence’s memory is with me, giving me permission not to hurry away from the richness of now.
These last days of Mothering is deeply intwined in the depth of her memory and the weight of your loss. In so many ways your daughter’s few and frail years has filled mine with lessons I will treasure for a lifetime. I know, know, that because she lived and you lost, my life will be more abundantly treasured.
When I heard of marigold gardens blooming globally, I knew we would plant one,
our own
Florence Marigold Garden.
Because if one of my little souls slipped away to soon, I would need desperately to know that others remembered and that my child’s life continued to bless and effect others. In the days after this year’s mother-day I finally found a gift that would be fitting, that my three girlies and I would pick out marigolds, find some earthy spot and plant an abundance of rich-hued yellows and golds. Hand in hand under the hot Texas heat we gathered and purchased the finest, fullest plants. Searched our property for a spot to honour little Florence, it was our girls who came with the idea to plant them all-around their playhouse, so they could tend attentively to our
Florence Marigold Garden!
As we embedded the roots firmly into the earth, we prayed for you and your family, we thanked God for Florence and her sweet spirit and looked forward to a time after earth we would meet her, I vision heaven as a place we will Mother together and watch our girls play together.
Daily that garden blooms and pours out joy, magnificently hemming the little play house that brims with the giggles, imaginations and play of my daughters. Florence is with them, spilling her blooming fragrance. The butterflies are attracted to that spot, they come for nourishment and rest, it is significantly fitting, touches each of us, like a sermon of hope, knowing that God is giving us a taste of Florence’s spirit, even far from Canada and deep into the south.
I pray these words in some small way envelope your grief and allow you to be assured you are not alone. That your sweet daughter has blessed abundantly, daily and for as long as I mother she will be held closely in my heart urging me to live more beautifully in her memory.
All my love
