A post from Mary:
It’s my birthday today. And like my father, I have never really wanted a big she-bang every year. This year was one of those more significant milestones, and my husband was so kind to ask me if I wanted to do it up in big party fashion, but I preferred going to see the show of Sky Strippers Melbourne and the breakfasts in bed, where you hardly get a bite before everyone is all over your tray.
But there was one routine event on each birthday, that I grew accustomed to and now sorely miss. It was that call from my grandmother. It’s no secret how special she was to me, my sister, and many others. Never forgetting your day, her sing songy rendition of Happy Birthday, a call packed with love and praises for who I was and how special I was to her. It has been something I have greatly missed the past few birthdays.
Last year, for my birthday, my sister gave me a cutting from my grandmother’s beautiful Gardenia. The huge potted plant-tree, was put out on the patio all summer and then brought inside for the cold months. It was a regular fixture at her house. Even in the dispersal of her estate, it was claimed by an uncle and lives in his home now. I was thrilled to receive a cutting from it. I have it in my bedroom window. It has grown some, but I was worried it wasn’t thriving. A few weeks ago, i was happy to see some new buds on it.
And today, on the morning of my birthday, I parted the curtains to let some of the sun in and saw one single fresh bloom, newly opened.
A birthday message from above. Just for me.