"I hate pink and purple mother, don't put those in there."
She pretended not to hear me as she kept arranging pink tipped roses and ugly purple flowers into a vase.
"No!" It seemed like I was screaming at her, but the silence between us remained unbroken. She wouldn't look at me, she wouldn't speak to me. She acted as though all the decisions were hers, like I wasn't involved in any of it. But it was my day. Mine.
I tried another tactic. I spoke softly, almost in a whisper.
"Please mom, just this once, can't you do it like I want. Just white flowers, that looks tacky." I wanted something elegant and understated; something simple.
She turned towards me; yes, I had gotten through to her. I smiled briefly. And then I watched in disbelief as she carried the arrangement right past me. I lunged for the flowers and they slipped right through my fingers.
I lay on the ground helpless, watching as my mother bent down to place the arrangement on the headstone. It was my headstone. Mine.
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