I looked at my three year old son and said,

“Everything has a time to bloom. Some flowers get to stay longer than others. These flowers on the Dogwood have had their time. The storm the other day swept many of the flowers from the tree earlier than they should have come down. But eventually, all the flowers wilt and fall.”

His eyes met mine and he cocked his head to the side, considering my answer. 

He raised his eyebrows as he asked me,

“But they’ll come back, right?”

Tears rose to my eyes. I swallowed hard, and nodded in agreement. Bruce looked up at the tree, beaming, his dimple, lighting up his whole face. Tears fell from my eyes and onto the grass with the scattered white petals. Bruce squatted down and picked one up, the ivory bloom taking up much of his tiny pink hand. He gently placed it in my hand and then began scooping up as many of the fallen flowers as he could. 

I took a deep breath and added to my nodding head, “Yes, they’ll come back next year. Not the same exact flowers and petals as these ones which have fallen. But new flowers will blossom next spring, and they’ll be so beautiful.”

Bruce stopped gathering the fallen petals and held his hands above his head, turned his face towards the sky, and released.

I smiled as I watched the little scraps of magic dance around his sweet little form, landing in his hair, floating to the ground.

“These ones are still so beautiful, mom.”

‘You’re right, my love, they are.”

Every year when our Dogwood blooms and then again as it begins to drop its petals, I’ll think of this poignant moment with my son. I’ll think of those 19 children and their 2 teachers whose souls left their bodies on May 24. 

I’ll cry for the nature of life and I’ll smile for the life in nature.