Pansy

Many years ago, though it seems only yesterday, I was browsing the local nursery in Breaux Bridge, La as I was prone to do. It was fall and there were mums and snapdragons and flowers of all colors and shapes, but ZI had come for one flower.... I wanted to see the pansies. I have always loved pansies. They appear in such an array of colors and shapes and sizes. Some pansies are red, some gold, some purple, some yellow, some white, and all the varying shades and hues in between. Some pansies are tricolored and some have designs like faces in them. The petals of some pansies are ruffled and others quietly simple. Some pansies have an ‘in your face’ boldness and others are rather shy and unassuming. Don’t let that fool you.
Pansies have always soothed my soul. I love their gracefulness and their appearance of vulnerability when they are really tenacious, and strong. I love their delicate scent and I can close my eyes and softly brush the petals across my cheek and breathe deeply and feel loved and comforted.
I noticed a young woman with several small children wandering around the nursery and laughing with her babies. Eventually she wandered my way and we struck up a conversation. I told her much of what I have told you, though perhaps even more of what was in my heart. She was that kind of woman and I knew instantly that she was one of those people you have heard me speak about who I call “new friends who were really old friends.” After a bit I put out my hand, excused my lack of manners and introduced myself. She smiled and looked into my eyes and held my hand gently and said, “Hi! My name is Pansy .” I embraced her as you would a sister and said “Why of course it is. What else could it be?”
Thus began a friendship between me and Pansy Snyder that will last all of my life even though she was taken from this world way too soon. I think of her often and I always smile. I think of her beautiful nature and the way she loved the world. I fondly remember my daughter Rose looking up at me with love, saying “Please Momma Can IK go to P..ah..nsies house. That was how she said her name.
I dedicate this album of pansies to Pansy and to Tasha, Robyn, Eon, and Shane, her children. Remember your mother always and tell stories of her to your children that they might know her too. Her kind of generosity and love is everlasting.