It was late one Saturday afternoon when the guests gathered beneath the boughs of an ancient oak. They had come to celebrate the beginning of a life together for two young people they all knew and loved, but before the ceremony began with the official seating of the grandparents and parents of the bride and groom, a woman walked down the aisle, carrying sunflowers which she gently laid in a chair at the front. She was followed by another, and then another, each carrying sunflowers which they placed in the same chair. After that, the ceremony began as most weddings do, then ended with a kiss and a reception to follow.
Those sunflowers were the favorites of the bride’s mother, and on this day they served as a tangible reminder of her love. She would be there in spirit, but physically she had left them years before, a victim of a cancer battle she simply could not win. And now, at a time when most mothers would help plan and prepare and finally participate in one of the most important moments of their child’s life, she was achingly absent, her essence held in the bright yellow petals that filled what would have been her seat.
There are times in most every child’s life when they automatically turn to their mother. In their youth, skinned knees and scary moments call for the healing hand of a mother . . . the calming embrace of someone who can fix anything. As we age, the skinned knees become broken hearts and the scary moments turn into Life in general. And still we turn to our mothers for the reassurance that all will be well, for the wisdom and guidance that comes with age and experience, and the hug that soothes our pain and calms our soul.
They watch over us, pray for us, celebrate with us, and ache deep within their very being whenever we hurt with a pain they cannot banish. And when Life’s milestones arrive . . . the graduations, the weddings, the birth of children . . . mothers are just supposed to be there, to share in our joy. To see the results of their sacrifices through the years. To enjoy the fruits of their labor and to share in the happiness of their offspring.
Most of us are very lucky. Our mothers stay with us long enough to be a part of these moments and so many more. But those who are not . . . those who will place flowers in an empty chair on their wedding day . . . realize what so many of us often fail to see. There are just some moments in Life when your mother is supposed to be there. And the gentle sorrow at their absence reminds us of how truly important they were—and always will be—in our lives.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
