#so maybe not the best person for advice

Mother’s Day dawns, 1989 - 

On the wide, green grassy lawn,

Dotted with row on row of stones.

I wear my Sunday best,

Carnation-pink dress,

White ruffled collar and shoes.

Grandmother hands me flowers,

Carnations, yellow, pink and white.

Youthful blooms, cut off at the stems.

I grasp them, hold on tight,

With pudgy toddler fingers.

Nobody remains who can recall that day,

Which now lays locked inside a photograph.

But we park at the lawn’s grassy edge,

And without knowing who she is, or why,

I place the flowers at mother’s grave.