St. Gertrude Catholic Parish

I can’t remember exactly when I started doing it, but every year, to celebrate my birthday, would bring or send my mother a dozen roses with a note thanking her for “being there” whenever I needed her, from that very first moment onward. She always loved roses. I found out why when I visited her birthplace in the town of Alberobello, in the province of Bari, in Italy. The backyard of the small cottage, called a trulli, where cousins still live, is filled with rose bushes that have been there, I was told, as long as anyone could remember.When mom moved into a senior complex in Lisle called the Devonshire, the front desk would call and tell her that the roses had been delivered. She confessed to me that she would always let them sit there for a while for all the other residents to notice. What could be more impressive than roses from your priest son? If I could shake loose from my responsibilities I would bring the bouquet to her myself. Then she was able to show me off as well as the flowers. Her friends clearly admired the roses more than me.

Mom died a few years ago at 93. When my birthday came around, I went out and brought two dozen roses. One bouquet I kept on my desk and the other I brought out to Mount Carmel Cemetery in Hillside. Two right turns after entering on Roosevelt Road and up on the left is the family stone. My grandparents are buried on either side of my parents. My sister, Annamaria, rests between mom and dad. Someday I will be buried there too. I placed the dozen roses on my mom’s grave and thanked her for all the times in so many ways that she was there for me when I needed her. I have found that she continues to watch out for me. So, I hope once a year, like always, to find the time on Tuesday to remember her with another dozen roses. There is no reason for me to stop doing it. There is no better way for me to celebrate my birthday as well as my faith in the Resurrection of the Just.

DJG

Filed under: From Fr. Grassi