The Last Rose of Summer


Six years ago my beloved mother died in October. What I had feared as a child just happened. She said every autumn, that she had taken “the last Rose of the summer” from the garden. She was a rose herself.

Roses by MH

The Last Rose of Summer

The Last Rose of Summer

Always thinking about us her children and keeping her correspondence with many people all over family and friends. If she didn’t get a letter for a long time she said oh:

“I am so sorry I didn’t hear from that person for a year or so”.

Here is a Pingback to a fellow blogger on someone being remembered as a rose.

My mother never gave up, but kept on writing and sure enough, she got letters back. Now I am able to “see” her as she was when I was small and even further back when she was young during the WWII and fortunately I have all the pictures from the family photos.

My mother Ruth on the left in her home in the 1930s  

The first years after her death I struggled to “see” her only as she was the last months losing her physical abilities so marked by this horrible cancer in the cerebellum.

( I can’t help thinking if the poisonous ingredients at the chemistry where she worked in the forties play a role in getting cancer in the cerebellum.)

This a golden moment in my life

Ruth' birthday 1955

Ruth’s birthday 1955

The last thing she was looking at from her window was a red bush like the photo. I am so glad the she imprinted in me the love for people and for foreigners and I want to be as faithful as she was. I have written about her exciting experiences during the war and a life long friendship coming from that time.

My blogging friend from Romania Paul Militaru has allowed me to use his picture of a autumn bush as I told Paul that this type of bush was like the one she had in her garden.

Please have a look at his beautiful photos at his blog.

Courtesy to Paul Militaru

Courtesy Paul Militaru


  1. I know. Old letters are such a treasure. I had a letter for years written by the brother of my great-grandfather. It told of being left for dead in a mine in an old mining camp. It was cross-hatched–the writing going first left to right. Then the paper was turned horizontally and the second page was written over the first, going lengthwise on the paper–a common technique used when paper was scarce. As I recall, they found this letter when they found his body and sent it to his brother. It was brittle and golden with age and my favorite possession. Many years later, I read the story of his being shot over a claim dispute in an old newspaper from a mining camp in Colorado, but by then the letter had been lost somehow–perhaps left behind when a tornado blew our house away and they filled in the basement where my childhood keepsakes had been stored.

    I’m so glad you have your mother’s letters. Perhaps they will be the inspiration for former stories of your own, Maria.


  2. Maria, it is wonderful to make your acquaintance through the Haddon Musings blog. Cherish the memories that you so beautifully stated. Your mother’s eyes are looking down on you and smiling for all of the lovely comments made.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It is so strange, yet wonderful, to discover old letters of your parents after they are gone. You get this interesting perspective on what they were like as just people, rather than mama and papa.

    Liked by 1 person

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