I dreamed of my motherâ€“ not her living, breathing, walking self, only accidental snapshots my father found on an old camera. In the pictures sheâ€™s going down the staircase and back up again. My grief for her upon seeing them has weight and presence. I find a flowerÂ arrangement sheâ€™d made wilting in a corner with one large reaching orchid leaf, a bunch of red holly berries, and two protuberances that resemble cucumbers. I announce it to the others in the house as her final flower arrangement and tell them to say goodbye as I carry it to the trash.