Violets for the Soul

Since Violets for the Soul debuted a few months ago, I’ve been on the lookout for everyday miracles that bring meaning and joy to my life. Hopefully, those who take the time to read my thoughts have found the same.

It’s been an enlightening experiment. I’ve found violets for the soul in the usual places – in the garden, for example, and on travels to faraway locales. But as I train my eyes and ears to pay attention to the angels around us, I’ve found them in the most unexpected scenarios: at the grocery store, during jury duty, on a walk with the dog, and in the aftermath of a hard freeze, a derecho and a hurricane that brought devastation to millions in its wake.

This morning I was especially in need of a little violets for the soul, as today is my mother’s heavenly birthday. She would have been 105. I miss her dearly, though it’s been 34 years since she passed.

It was Mother who coined the phrase “violets for the soul” to mark occurrences that might seem insignificant to others but spoke uniquely to her – the smell of a rose, the buzz of a hummingbird, the laughter of a child. It was her quiet way of modeling grace, humility and kindness. I am forever grateful for her example.

So today I vowed to collect a bouquet of “violets” in her honor. For inspiration, I went to my garden, where I feel her presence daily. The dew was “still on the roses,” but there wasn’t much blooming save for a lone rain lily, a few sprigs of her clematis and some diehard salvia that carries on, undaunted by the three-digit heat. A couple of hummingbirds, which she loved, were staking their territory around the feeders in our back yard. A butterfly or two fluttered by, and the foliage swayed in a nice breeze. Was she saying hello?

I cut my reverie short and headed inside to get ready for church. Afterward, as we relished the prospect of a lazy afternoon, my husband asked if I’d read the Sunday comics. When I shook my head, he handed me the paper and pointed to “Pearls Before Swine.”

Standing in what looks like a field, Pig asks the man a series of questions: If you stand there very still, can you hear her voice? Can you smell her? If you close your eyes, can you see her? And if you think really hard, are all the things you did together somewhere in your head? Is she right there in your heart?

He answers affirmatively to all of the above, and the next frame shows a tombstone at their side. Pig says, “So she’s not gone. She just moved.” He picks Pig up and offers his thanks, to which Pig replies, “Oh, and she lives in every hug.”

It was as if the syndicated comic strip’s creator, Stephan Pastis, had produced each panel just for me – my violets for the soul du jour.

But I was curious to find the reason behind this expression of grief in a comic strip that can at times be a bit snarky and satirical. After a little digging around the Internet, I found a story published in February 2019 in the Washington Post that describes the loss Pastis and his family experienced when their dog Edee died of cancer several years ago. He announced her passing in a comic strip that struck a personal chord with hundreds of fans who shared messages of sympathy and support. Today, I offer mine as well.

I didn’t expect to cry over the funny papers this morning, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who did. I wonder how many hearts the cartoonist unwittingly touched.

It goes to show that violets for the soul can be found in the most unlikely of places, even in the words of a cartoon character. And as I strive to honor the memory of my mother and emulate her loving spirit, I’ll find comfort in remembering that she is “right there” in my heart and, indeed, “in every hug.”