On Mother’s Day I called my brother, then my sister.  I got myself together.  I went to Saint John’s Episcopal Church in Park Slope.  The day was startling  beautiy.  Sky cloudless.  Air warm.  Many people carrying flowers–mostly men and children.

I have not always appreciated the solemnity of Mother’s Day.  I am one to send cards and when flush, bouquets and such.  But this is the first one in which I am not carrying the red carnations–a custom known in the South and I think in many places: red for living; white for dead.  I took the white carnation.  I felt a great deal of heaviness.  I saw many other white carnations. Much mother loss in the church.

I did not carry my white carnation from church, but left it in the garden because I think that is where it belonged. many of my fellow parishioners were also carrying white carnations. but there were new moms there too with their chubby legged children making noise during service the circle opens and closes. opens and closes.

photo by Patricia Spears Jones