The White Carnation: A Mother’s Day Remembrance

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What is the greatest lesson you learned from your mother or a mom like figure in your life?

When I was growing up, there were a number of different types of flowers in the yard of our family home. My mother was a wonderful gardener who tended to her pink carnations, red and yellow roses, pink geraniums, camellias, and many other varieties.

So when my fifth grade teacher announced that we would be making a special gift for our mothers — a construction paper greeting card and a carnation fashioned from facial tissue — I knew that I wanted to present my mother with something unique. When faced with a choice between pink or white tissue, I chose white. After all, my mother grew beautiful pink carnations in our backyard, so I thought she would be more impressed by and appreciate receiving something she did not have — a white carnation.

The teacher did not explain to the class at the outset that pink carnations are supposed to be presented to your mother on Mother’s Day, but a white carnation signifies honor paid to a deceased mother. (I had never heard of that tradition before . . . nor have I heard it since.)

So I worked diligently on my card and faux carnation, and was quite pleased with my effort. That is, until my teacher saw that I had chosen white, rather than pink. It was then that she told me about the custom.

And that was when I felt terrible because I would be presenting my mother with an inappropriate gift. It never occurred to me that my mother would not have heard of that social more. After all, at that point in my life, I still believed that my mother knew everything about every conceivable topic.

I remember coming home from school and being reluctant to give my mother the gift I had made for her. I did not want to hurt her feelings in any way by presenting her with an unsuitable gift. Finally, I decided I could no longer avoid giving her the card and flower, and resolved to apologize to her for not making a pink carnation.

To my surprise, she had never heard of the tradition. I can still hear her voice, in fact: “Well, I’ve certainly never heard of such a rule. I like carnations in any color. And I’ve never seen a carnation made from Kleenex before. This is very clever. Thank you!”

She proudly displayed the card with the others she received that day and placed the artificial carnation in a vase on the table in the spot on our kitchen table usually reserved for bouquets of real flowers from our garden.

After she died, we went through her belongings. aI found that card in a box, tucked away for years along with many other school projects she had saved over the decades. The tissue carnation was not there, but I was neither surprised nor disappointed because I’m sure that, over time, it disintegrated.

Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved. (Erich Fromm)

To this day, I remember that experience each and every Mother’s Day and every time I see a white carnation. Why? Because my mother’s behavior was a perfect example of unconditional love, disregard for social convention, and appreciation of a gift made with love and freely given, even if the gift-giver acknowledged that it was flawed in some way.

I was afraid to show her that the carnation was — purportedly, at least — the “wrong” color, but she loved it, anyway. In the same manner, she loved me no matter what I did, even though I frequently disappointed and perplexed her, especially in my late teens and early twenties. She loved me even when she thought I was making destructive life choices or hanging out with the “wrong crowd.” She loved me when I disrespected and disregarded her. She loved me when I didn’t call or visit as often as I should, preferring to spend time with my friends. She loved me when I rolled my eyes to let her know that I thought she was not smart enough to understand me or the world in which I lived, and laughed with me in her later years when she recalled those moments not with spite or bitterness, but amusement as she watched me struggle to raise my own children. As I was growing up, when she was completely exasperated with me, she would say, “I hope that when you grow up, you have a kid who is just like you!” She loved me when I reminded her of those words as the child who is indeed a carbon copy of me would, in turn, drive me to distraction. She loved me when I brought my children to her home to visit and they presented her with crayon drawings or watercolor paintings which she proudly displayed. She loved me in the years after my father died when I would call and say, “Be ready. We’ll pick you up and take you with us” to lunch, church, shopping or wherever we were headed that day. She loved me even as she grew old and frail, and could no longer walk without assistance, so my children would take turns helping her make her way down the steps of her home and into my car. She loved me even at the moment she left this world.

These days, a white carnation — at least according to the social tradition revealed by that teacher — is the appropriate choice to show honor and respect for my mother’s memory and legacy. But I wish that she were here today to receive beautiful bouquets of carnations in pink — or any other color she might desire — from me and my children. I miss her and so do they.

One lamp - thy mother’s love - amid the stars
Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and before
The throne of God, burn through eternity -
Holy - as it was lit and lent thee here.
~Nathaniel Parker Willis~

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