I didn't bring flowers

When I first started this blog, I told myself I will not blog about details in my personal life. After all, we've got too many skeletons in the closet. Skeletons that we would prefer not make public. Skeletons that belong in a diary, not a public blog.

But there is a first for everything, I've been told. This will be my first.

I went to Aunt Grace's grave yesterday, primarily because I haven't been visiting for sometime now. The fact that it was a public holiday didn't seem to hurt.
The tradition is to bring flowers, but I didn't. I didn't think it mattered much and I couldn't find florists that open on a public holiday. Bad mistake. The last time someone brought flowers was my brother's visit a month ago.

Aunt Grace was somewhat of a vain person, who was always meticulous with appearances, both of herself as well as everyone she cared for. The wilted flowers meant only one thing- I failed to bring her flowers. I couldn't help but cry. I haven't cried since she died last year. I barely made it back to send her off. I was busy frolicking all over South Africa while she was bedridden in the hospital. I barely made it back to give her the ostrich egg she wanted.

Did I do enough for her? Am I doing enough for my family? I've caused more than my fair share of heartaches for them. Have I done enough to make up for it? I made the wrong trade-off years ago when I was younger and more reckless, trading family time for my career. Have I changed enough to make up for it?

I didn't bring flowers....