Mother's Day and Violets

My father died on May 11th ten years ago this year. My son and husband gave me a pair of beautiful purple violets that year and they have donned my office windows over the years with a flurry of deep purple flowers and lush green leathery leaves. One of them died when we were at Shands with Wyatt; the other blooms as never before. This year, My mother gave me a violet for Mother's Day. Now I have two again, one small, new and fresh; one aged, thick and layered with time. I liken this juxtaposition to my grief. Not that loosing a parent is akin to loosing a child, it's not. But pain is pain and grief is grief and the emotions we experience and express are similar. It's just the vivid picture of old and new, past and present, the hope of future and the frailness of present life that makes me think. Will time soften the edges of this loss as it did with my father?  Will I one day not think of my son and his death with every breath.  Will I sleep again?  Will I think in a complex way again? Will I maintain a complete thought process again? Will I enjoy the simple pleasures of life without wondering about what he would have been or where he would be?  I don't know.  I do know that the purple violet given to me ten years ago is still very full of life and brings me great joy every day...if my young violent does the same, I'll be grateful.