My father and I were having a conversation yesterday about Mother’s Day and possible restaurants we might take mine to dinner. One of the things we decided was to purchase two dozen pink roses.

At first, he said he wanted to get red. Red, to me, always seems to show up at funerals and since I’ve been to way too many of them, I don’t feel comfortable giving red roses to anyone for anything.

My favorite happens to be pink…always has been, always will be. Soft pink roses seem just right. Not too harsh like red, not too bridal like white.

Anyway, he told me about how when he was growing up in New York City in the 1940 and 50s, on Mother’s Day a woman would wear either a white rose, signifying her mother had died, or a pink rose, signifying her mother was alive.

I had never heard that story and it really seems such a nice way to honor your mother whether she was still among us, or has passed on.

So, for me, I have the pleasure of still wearing a pink rose, but today, my heart and compassion goes out to all those who would be wearing a white rose.

And maybe there should be another color, perhaps purple or lavender, befitting the Foundation for Grieving Children, Inc., for those mothers who have buried children. The other side of motherhood is not just honoring our mothers, but mothers who can no longer be honored by children who have left us too soon.

Whether pink, or white and purple, we remember today all the wonderful things that mothers bring to our lives. But especially the fact that life itself began because of them.

Happy Mother’s Day.