Her picture hangs on the living room wall. It’s the last one she painted. It’s of a flower. And not just any flower. The flower is a perfect peony.
Lee loved peonies. She loved the pink ones most of all. The big puff balls of pink tinged blossoms, that delicately scented the room.
My last memory of her lingers. She sits before the easel, paint brush balanced. The oils are blended on the palette to just the right shades and capture the perfect peony in the cut glass vase.
I visit that memory often, afraid it will someday be lost forever.
“Are you okay Dad?”
“Fine, Julie. Just remembering Mom.”
All of us are gathered to celebrate her life. Today would have been her 50th birthday. We have the cake. Julie baked that coconut layer cake Lee baked for special occasions. Then we’ll all sit and tell stories under the painting, with that cut glass vase filled with those pink peonies.
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