Early cacti blooms may be mom's doing

I’m convinced that Mom is messing with me. She is not one to let a little thing like being dead stop her.

Why do I think she is doing this? She was always one to push the seasons. In January she would ask if my tulips were up yet. In August when it was sweltering she would ask if I had brought my plants in because it was going to get cold soon. I always sighed in frustration before explaining that it was way too early.

Imagine my surprise when one of my Christmas cacti began blooming a week ago. It is currently perched on the piano and is covered with cheery blossoms. Note that is a Christmas plant, bred to bloom at Christmas, not early fall. I am positive this is her doing. I can almost hear her laughing.

On the other hand, I think she has given up on the violet my daughter gave me after her funeral. Mom gave me hundreds of violets during her lifetime and I killed every one of them. This one has lasted far longer than any of the others and I always assumed that Mom was taking care of it from the afterlife. I’m afraid I have finally managed to drown the poor thing as most of its leaves are decidedly mushy.

You may think this is silly. In a way it is. But nobody knows what comes next and the thought that a dead person cares about plants may be contrary to what you believe. Still, it gives me comfort to think that some part of my mother lives on and is still taking care of me.

I have been thinking a lot about dead people lately. I am meeting two of my cousins, Kim and Tim, tomorrow and we are going to go through boxes of old photographs. I hope to return home with far fewer prints and another story or two to add to the family genealogy.

I have updated and printed out the family history for Kim. It is longer than the one I did for Tim several years ago. It is up to him to update it if he chooses.

In printing out the pages I was reminded that war is an ongoing part of our lives. I read about my great-great-great? grandfather, Ned. He joined Company K out of Ohio and went off to fight in the Civil War. He was subsequently shot in the leg, captured, and sent to Andersonville. During the 14 months the prison existed, it held more than 45,000 Union soldiers. Of these, almost 13,000 died. Ned was one of the unlucky ones as he lost his battle with dysentery, mere months before the war was over.

I was also reminded that life used to be much more dangerous. My grandmother’s parents lost their first two babies. My grandfather’s parents lost five of their nine children, most of whom died when they were infants. I am still searching for death certificates for several of them.

It is appropriate that I am dealing with all these dead people at this time of year. Autumn is a season of change. All the lushness of summer is giving way to the cooler weather and slower pace of fall. Green leaves are changing to flaming reds and yellows and then to crunchy browns. The trees and plants are changing, not dying.

Life goes on but in a different form. And my dead mother takes great delight in making my Christmas cactus bloom out of season.